Raincheck
by Kindle-the-Stars
Summary: Three weeks after the initial Leviathan attack, Jack Thompson tracks down Peggy to offer her a mission. Mulit-chaptered Cartson fic, now complete.
1. Chapter 1

"Is this seat taken?"

Peggy looked up from her newspaper at the sound of the familiar voice to see Jack Thompson standing beside her table at the L&amp;L Automat, a take-away cup of coffee in one hand and an SSR file in the other. He was wearing his long grey overcoat and his tie was ever so slightly askew, as if he had recently loosened it in frustration. "What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning up at him. She hadn't seen him since she had picked up her last pay-check from the SSR three weeks ago, the day that the men from Congress had dropped by, but even at a glance she could tell he looked tired.

One corner of his mouth twitched up. "I don't suppose you'll believe that I just happened to be passing," he said rhetorically, and then lowered himself down into the seat opposite her without being invited, placing his coffee on the table in front of him. "I was going through some old files and realised something."

"That you really don't know the alphabet? I hope you're not after a lesson," she retorted, her frown deepening as he showed every intention of making himself comfortable, tearing open a packet of sugar and pouring it into his black coffee.

"I found the file we had on Edwin Jarvis after we questioned him" he told her, ignoring her jibe and stealing the teaspoon from the side of her saucer to stir his drink. "And I realised that by playing dumb with that stolen car report you were able to walk him clear out of the SSR and safely out of our hands." He shook his head slightly at her, bemused, his lips pressed together. "Even after the whole Leviathan thing came to light I didn't connect the dots, it was only when I had the file in front of me this morning that I realised what you'd done that day."

"Your point?" Peggy asked, wondering where he was going with this and why he had apparently sought her out, other than to disrupt her afternoon.

"My point is that you're _good_," he said simply, picking up his coffee to take a sip. "Hell, you even got all teary eyed when Dooley made you apologise to me - I'm impressed." He smirked at her over the rim of his cup, as if they were sharing a private joke, but she could see the lines of tension around his mouth.

There was a beat of silence as Peggy tapped the end of the pen she had been using against the table, her quick eyes noting the thickness of the innocuous file on the table beside his coffee and the hint of stubble on his jaw, indicating that he hadn't found the time to shave that morning. "What do you want, Jack?" she asked plainly, cutting to the chase since she knew that this was no simple social call.

He met her gaze steadily, dropping the jovial attitude. "I'm here with a mission," he replied, all seriousness.

"I don't work for the SSR anymore," she told him, despite the fact that her curiosity was undeniably piqued.

Jack shrugged, his gaze locked on hers – he'd thrown the line into open waters and was now waiting if she would take the bait.

Curiosity got the better of her. "What's the mission?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by the other patrons of the diner.

"We have a mole," he explained, all business. "Leviathan seems to know everything that we do before we even make move. We've had false leads, misinformation, the works." He shook his head in frustration. "We haven't made any real progress since arresting Ivchenko, if anything we've taken steps backwards."

"Are you sure it's not just shoddy leadership?" she couldn't help but retort, though there wasn't any malice in her voice.

There was another pause, then Thompson's mouth quirked up into a smile. "Come off it, Carter, I know you're not really mad about that day," he said in a knowing, dismissive tone.

She raised her brow at him; that was true and she had told Daniel as much, but she wanted to see what Thompson said to justify himself. "Do you now?"

"Yeah, because you know your worth and I damn-well do too," he said plainly, not disappointing her. "What those idiots in politics think doesn't matter because we both understand how the game is played. Sousa is naïve about it all, but we both know that if I had given you the credit then they would have never offered me Chief, and you would be back to coffee-runs and not actual assignments." He drummed his fingers on the file beside him, then pushed it an inch or so towards her, as if he was trying to tempt her with it. "Speaking of which, I want you to come back to the SSR. On the surface it will be as if you're helping us with cases, but your actual mission will be to find the perp within our ranks."

"Why me?" she asked, folding her hands on the table in front of her as she listened to him.

"You ran around for weeks as a corporate spy and no one suspected a goddamn thing. You were one step ahead of us the entire time, working alone." Jack's steely blue gaze was steady on hers, his face set into serious lines. "There's no one I'd trust more with this, Peggy."

Realising that he was genuine in his request, Peggy was willing to acquiesce. "What do you know so far?" she questioned.

Thompson scowled, the crease between his brows growing more pronounced. "Everything I've got points to Sousa, but my gut says its not him. It's too clean - everyone knows he is basically my deputy, so I think it's a set up." His frown deepened and he glanced down at the table before returning his gaze to her, raising one shoulder slightly and lowering his voice. "We lost good agents in the initial Leviathan attack – Li, Kresminsky, Yaouch, Dooley." He hesitated, glancing away again. "And you," he added in an even quieter voice. He then took a deep breath, drumming his fingers on the table once more. "The high-ups have sent over some new blood to swell the ranks, so smart money is on it being one of them," he continued in a normal voice and then jerked his chin at her. "Whadda say, you in?"

"What's in it for me?" she wanted to know, her head cocked to one side.

One eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Well, you will be on the clock, so how about a pay-check?" he offered, then reached across the table to tilt her newspaper towards him to see what she had been doing. "Beyond that, something to do that isn't sitting in a diner at three o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon doing the crossword."

Peggy took the newspaper from his hands, closed it pointedly and then placed it to one side, resting her pen atop of it. Jack leaned across the table towards her. "Come on, Marge, you must be bored stiff not working at the SSR."

"Don't call me that," she shot back instantly, having always hated the nickname and the way he said it, as if to patronise her. "And I've been helping Howard classify and store his inventions, as well as assisting him with his new vault security," she told him, trying to keep the distinct lack of interest she felt in this particular role out of her voice; bored stiff was right, she was itching to get back to work but she wasn't going to let on how keen she was. "He doesn't exactly keep conventional office hours."

"Sounds satisfying," Thompson drawled, his tone dry – Peggy resisted the urge to bite down on the inside of her cheek, irked that he could read her so well. He pushed the file across the table towards her. "Well … here is everything I've got on the new Agents, you know where to find me if you change your mind." He fished in his coat pocket for his wallet and threw some notes on the table – enough to cover both their drinks and a tip, she noticed - before standing up, picking up his coffee cup and donning his hat.

He nodded once at her, his gaze lingering. "See you around, Carter," he said, leaving her with the SSR file in front of her. She waited until he was well out of the door before picking it up and starting to read.

* * *

The next day Peggy strolled into the bullpen of the SSR wearing a striking dark blue skirt that was paired with a white blouse and matching heels that clicked smartly as she walked. She ignored the looks of surprise various Agents gave her as she made her way between the desks, her handbag dangling from the strap looped around her wrist. Hearing the familiar sound of her heels, Sousa glanced up from the file he had been reading and then did a double take. "Peggy," he said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Peggy paused beside his desk to speak to him, bracing the fingertips of one hand against the wood. "I've heard things are falling apart without me, so I thought I would lend a hand," she said, casting him a familiar, wry smile.

"You can say that again," Daniel said, looking equal parts pleased to see her and exasperated at truth of her statement. "Just last week I had one of the few remaining Stark weapons surfacing on the black market and then vanishing again just as we went in for collection."

"Sounds frustrating," Peggy said, fully aware of this – included in the file Jack had given her was all of the evidence linking Sousa to the sabotaged cases: she had agreed with his assessment that it was too clean, the whole thing had been neatly set up to make it look like Daniel had acquired and then sold on the weapon himself.

"I'll say," he agreed, glancing down at the files scattered in front of him and then over his shoulder to where her own desk was kept in pristine condition, waiting for her: evidently they had been serious when they had said they would keep her desk clear, should she decide to return. "So you're back on the books then?" Daniel asked, a note of hope in his voice.

"Perhaps, I need to speak with the Chief first though," she hedged, turning her gaze towards Jack's office; she could see him through the glass, sitting in Dooley's old chair and speaking to an unfamiliar Agent. Peggy gave Sousa another smile. "If you'll excuse me, Daniel."

Continuing on between the two desks, she paused in the open doorway to the Chief's office and knocked on the doorframe to announce herself. Thompson instantly looked up and met her eyes for a brief second, then turned back to the Agent he had been speaking to. "Davis, get out," he said simply.

The young man looked mildly incredulous at his abrupt tone. "We're not finished -"

"Yes, we are. I'll hear the rest later," Jack told him firmly, then flicked two fingers in her direction to invite her in. "Carter, get in here."

Peggy waited until the young Agent, whom she now recognised as Timothy Davis from the file that Jack had given her, walked passed her and then closed the office door firmly behind him.

Jack, meanwhile, had stood up and come out from behind the desk, choosing instead to sit on the front to speak to her, much as he had done when Dooley had been Chief. "I gotta say, I'm pleased to see you," he said, folding his arms over his chest and watching her with his chin raised.

"But not surprised," Peggy surmised, firmly pulling the blind that covered the glass on the closed door down after closing it.

He shrugged, indicating that this was the case, but she was still able to detect a hint of relief in his bearing. "So what's the plan?" he asked, apparently wanting to get straight down to brass tacks.

Peggy moved to the blind covering one of the windows that looked out onto the bullpen and slowly closed that one as well, knowing full well that tongues would start wagging outside. "If I am to draw out the mole, then first we must make sure everyone knows I'm here and make them want to listen in to our conversations, that way we can feed the mole misinformation and not the other way around," she said, moving to the last blind and lowering it, but purposefully leaving the shutters partially open so that people could still see what was going on in the office – even at a glance she could see one or two people craning their necks in an attempt to see what was going on. "Nothing ensures an audience like the apparent necessity for privacy."

"You haven't closed that properly," Thompson pointed out, watching her curiously.

"Yes, that was intentional," she told him, placing her handbag down on his desk and standing with her back to the bullpen. "The file you gave me highlighted three Agents that you think are the potential mole," she said, and then smiled slyly. "I can't say I've remained ignorant of the work the SSR has been doing these few weeks and I am well aware that there are also three high profile suspects that you're currently monitoring as potentially having ties to Leviathan."

Thompson nodded, seemingly unsurprised that she had kept abreast of the SSRs dealings even while she was no longer working there. "Levourne, Dixon and Becket," he said, listing their suspects: Levourne was a millionaire who had made his fortune in highly disreputable, though legally untraceable ways; Dixon was a mobster who ran an underground gambling ring below a club; and Becket had been a business partner of Spider Raymonds.

Peggy nodded. "Instead of sniffing around the Agents tails, I suggest we simply set a trap and wait for them to come to us," she said simply, bracing the side of her hip against the desk.

"I'm listening," Jack said, sounding intrigued.

"Three Agents, three suspects under surveillance and one missing piece of Stark technology," she said, reaching into her handbag to withdraw a fake file that she had drawn up the night before. "In the interest of making this look authentic, I did a mock up of a scientific report on a chemical formula, a stabilising agent for the element francium, which is highly volatile and radioactive," she told him, handing him the report. "It's never been properly studied since the element decays too quickly. But when stabilised it is not only powerful, but also highly unpredictable. It has the potential capacity to be more powerful than the A-bomb."

Jack was frowning deeply as he skimmed through the file. "Why have I not heard about this with the other missing weapons?" he demanded, sounding displeased.

"Because it was not among the stolen cache, it doesn't exist," she explained mildly, watching him peruse the pages she had typed the night before. "The formula is purely theoretical, only existing in Howard's head." She nodded down at the file in his hands. "He assisted me with forging the report."

"Why the hell does Stark even think about this stuff?" Thompson muttered, mostly to himself, his eyes still lowered to the file.

"To be fair to Howard, this is one of the few projects that he actually abandoned before going beyond the theoretical stage since it was too dangerous," Peggy allowed, defending him. "He was analysing it from a scientific angle, not with the intention of making a weapon."

Jack flicked his gaze up to look at her, a deep crease between his brows. "You know," he said, still sitting on the edge of his desk and sounding like he was trying very hard to keep his tone light. "I think that you're either naïve or wilfully blind when it comes to Stark. Just because he believed in you when no one else did doesn't make him a good person," he told her bluntly. "He wasn't studying highly radioactive material just for fun, the Midnight oil wasn't intended as a weapon either and look where that got us."

"We are not here to discuss Howard," Peggy said coolly, not liking his tone or the implication behind his words; she had dealt with enough speculation on hers and Howard's relationship to last her a lifetime. "Either way, the stabilising agent is credible enough to be believable and powerful enough to be of interest to Leviathan."

She nodded down to the file in his hands and continued. "When I leave call a meeting with everyone to discuss the stabilising agent and set a team working on locating it. Later this afternoon tell Adams, who you listed as your main suspect, that he has a mission. As far as he will know, our team has discovered the francium stabilising agent is stored in the cages of Dixon's gambling den prior to sale and up for an exchange tomorrow night, but in reality he is the only one who has been told this information. If Adams is our man then there will be a break in this evening," she rattled off, all business. "You and I will be in the casino tonight, ready and waiting."

"Just the two of us?" Thompson asked, briskly snapping the file closed.

"We are not there to intercept a potential theft, we are simply there to see if it happens," she reminded him crisply.

He smirked, seemingly enjoying himself. "A night on the cards then, never took you for a gambler, Carter."

Ignoring him, Peggy continued to outline her plan. "If and when we have ruled out Adams, we will fabricate conversations regarding Levourne and Becket for Agents Davis and Geller to accidentally overhear detailing the location of the stabilising agent, hence the necessity to pique the SSRs interest in our dealings and make them want to listen in," she told him; she knew that her plan would make her the subject of gossip, but it was a necessary evil – many of the Agents outside knew her to be highly competent and, frustrating as it was, she needed the invisible woman back. "To do that, we have to get them all talking, if they are busy gossiping about something frivolous or salacious then they won't suspect that we are feeding them misinformation, or that my presence back at the SSR is anything to do with them."

Jack frowned in confusion. "And how the hell do you plan to do that?"

"Like this," she said simply, and then slapped him hard across the face with an open palm.

He obviously hadn't been expecting her blow since the impact sent him falling clear off the edge of his desk and onto the floor. He quickly got to his feet, his eyes wide with incredulity as he rubbed his cheek. He stared at her for several long seconds and his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said, "Bloody hell, you _enjoyed_ that, didn't you?"

"I did, actually," she admitted, fighting a small, satisfied smile. "Twenty-one-hundred hours at the Black Jack, Chief Thompson," she said, automatically dropping back into military time and naming Dixon's underground gambling ring on the Lower East Side.

Without so much as another word, she turned, picked up her handbag and left the room. Aside from the clicking of her heels there was absolute silence as she made her way between the desks, satisfying her that the entire floor already knew what had just occurred in his office thanks to the partially open blinds. Once she entered the lift she turned on her heel to face the bullpen, unsurprised to find all eyes still on her. Sousa's mouth was hanging partially open as he looked over the rim of his coffee cup between the two of them and Jack was watching her from his office door, still rubbing the red mark on his cheek.

Lift doors closed slowly and Peggy smiled to herself.

It was good to be back.

* * *

**Next up, Jack and Peggy at the underground gambling ring.**

**Leave a review, my lovelies :) **


	2. Chapter 2

When Peggy Carter had walked into the SSR, all fitted blouses, red lipstick and heels, Jack had thought for a moment that his day was looking up. The past few weeks were taking their toll on him and he was starting to understand why Dooley had kept a blanket and pillow in the office – twice he had fallen asleep at his desk and been woken by the cleaners in the early hours of the morning. He'd had his eye on the position of Chief ever since starting at the SSR, but he had rapidly realised that the role wasn't just a private office and delegating, especially with a mole within their ranks that was doing their damned best to sabotage them at every turn.

And so he had tracked down Peggy (not a particularly difficult task, finding her in the diner where her friend worked) and thrown his pride to the wind to ask for her help. He'd tried to hide how pleased he was to see her when she sauntered into his office, having been uncertain if she would want to come back after that day when the men from Congress had dropped by. His gut had said that she would take the mission, but that hadn't stopped him worrying about it until the moment she appeared in his office doorway.

But, as usual when it came to Peggy, she hadn't done what he had expected. She had thrown a curve-ball worthy of DiMaggio at him, taking charge and completely changing the parameters of the mission he had given her. He'd thought she would come back to work for them, that she would root out the mole from her desk with some investigative work within the office - not that she would stroll in with fake files, set an trap, slap him in the face and then walk back out with her damn heels clicking with every step.

God, that woman had a mean swing, he thought, rubbing his stinging cheek as he watched her leave from his office door, smiling her red smile as the elevator closed on her and leaving a room full of stunned men in her wake.

The second the elevator doors closed all eyes swung to Jack – some were confused, some intrigued and others downright accusatory, no doubt thinking he had deserved the slap: Sousa wasn't the only one he'd had to deal with the backlash from after he'd been made Chief and Carter's achievements had been dismissed, after having seen her in action in Russia Agent Ramirez was a staunch defender of hers as well. Ignoring them with some difficulty, he grabbed the file on the francium stabilising agent that Peggy had left on his desk and headed out to Sousa's station. He was still frozen with his coffee cup held in the air to be filled, while Betty (the girl he had hired to do coffee, lunches and filing instead of using the menial jobs to bully perfectly good Agents who could be doing proper work) was standing at his shoulder with the half-full coffee pot and a highly confused expression, evidently in the middle of doing the morning coffee rounds.

He dropped the file on his desk atop of his other work. "Get a team together, Carter just dropped off your next assignment," he said brusquely, still feeling wrong-footed by Peggy simply breezing in and stirring everything up.

Sousa automatically picked up the file and flicked though it. "Francium?" he said questioningly, glancing up at Jack from his seat.

"She and Stark have been cataloguing the recovered weapons and this one is still missing," he explained, automatically slipping into the role of Agent and building upon the cover story for the fake file that Peggy had given him. "I want it found as soon as possible."

He nodded, his face set into a frown. "Are you gonna explain to me why Peggy just cleaned your clock?" Daniel asked pointedly, the disapproval and – Jesus, was that _jealousy_? - evident in his usually mild voice.

"No I am not," Jack said simply, his cheek still stinging. He was already in a bad mood, not helped by seeing people sending glances his way and whispering. Damn, it was no wonder they had a leak when all his men were practically clucking like a gaggle of mindless hens; he had to remind himself that this was part of Peggy's plan. "Betty, grab me a coffee, would you?" he ordered over his shoulder as he headed back to his office: it was his third cup that day, but he felt like he would need it to get through the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

By the time he clocked out his mood had not improved. All afternoon the office had been buzzing like a disrupted hornets nest and, thanks to the phony-file that half the team was working on, he felt like they hadn't achieved anything all day. He'd stayed late, as usual, and it was only about half an hour before he was due to meet Peggy, sitting at his desk with his head braced in one hand as he poured over a report, that he realised he had better get going, grabbing dinner from a take-out joint and eating it behind the wheel as he drove down-town.

He parked a few blocks from the club that acted as a front for the underground gambling den and, leaving his coat in the car since it was a warm night, walked to the rendezvous point with his hands in his pockets.

He paused when he noticed Peggy standing beside the curb about two-hundred yards from the club. She was wearing a black dress with a halter neckline and heels with a strap that went around her ankle. Her stockings were sheer black and he could just make out the seam that ran up the backs of her legs - on any other woman it might have looked overly promiscuous, fitting for the kind of neighbourhood they were in and the gambling den they were about to visit, but on Peggy it was sophisticated, sensual and, perhaps, just a little bit dangerous.

"Not your usual look," he said by way of greeting as he approached, used to seeing her in bright, bold colours and office wear, not dressed for a night on the town.

She gracefully turned her head to look at him, her eyes dark and inscrutable. "My usual look would be rather conspicuous in Dixon's establishment," she said crisply, then her gaze flicked down his body. "You came straight from work," she added disapprovingly at his attire, and he shrugged in response.

"Adams has the details of the supposed exchange, need to know only, I told him he wasn't to share the intel with anyone," he told her, sounding like he was reporting to a superior and feeling slightly annoyed at himself for the fact – this was a mission and he had to get his head on straight. "The entire office is buzzing about both the francium and why you hit me, so I would say your plan is working so far," he added somewhat irritatedly, having dealt with whispers and comments all afternoon – the prevalent theory he'd picked up on was that some kind of love-triangle existed between him, Stark and Peggy.

"Then let's see if Adams is our man," she said in a business-like tone, then she nodded her head towards a narrow alley between two buildings. "First we need to make you look the part more."

He followed her several yards down the mouth of the alley, frowning at her as she pulled a comb from her handbag and handed it to him "Sort out your hair, you've picked up the habit of running your fingers though it recently," she told him briskly, then she eyed his clothing critically as he did so.

Once he had combed his hair back into its usual neat style, years of practice making a mirror unnecessary, she stood right in front of him and pulled at his loosened tie, undoing it completely. She then turned up his collar and started to retie his tie, not the usual Windsor-knot that his father had taught him, but a narrower, more intricate shell-knot. He stood still as she worked, acutely aware of her hands on his clothing, the extra height of her heels putting her almost directly at his eye level.

"You're pretty good at that, for a dame," he observed, keeping his chin up as she finished with his tie – if they hadn't been standing in a back alley and about to go on an undercover mission in a gambling den it would have been almost domestic.

"A woman's military uniform included a tie," she reminded him crisply as she worked, loosening the finished knot ever so slightly as if it had been pulled on during the day. "And my younger brother, Benjy, was incapable of doing his own tie until the age of fourteen, I used to have to do it for him before he went to school," she added with her eyes fixed on her work, and Jack thought that it was quite possibly the first piece of personal information that she had ever shared with him.

I didn't know you had a brother," he said as she plucked his handkerchief from his breast pocket and refolded it in neater, far more elaborate folds than he would have bothered with before returning it to his jacket.

"There is rather a lot that you don't know about me, Chief Thompson," she said brusquely, running her gaze over his clothing once more to inspect her changes."There, now you're less undercover cop and more stressed, city-slicker banker looking to waste some of his hard earned money." She then held out her prettily manicured hand towards him. "Gun," she ordered simply.

He looked at her with a single raised brow and Peggy sighed in exasperation. "We're about to enter the stomping ground of a well known mobster, do you really think they'll let you walk in there with a .357 Magnum at your side?"

He reluctantly handed it over, not liking to be unarmed on a mission; he removed his holster as well, tossing it away down the alley, knowing he could grab another one from the SSR. Peggy stored his gun in a cleverly concealed pocket within her handbag and then flicked her gaze over him once more. "Let's go," she said determinedly, meaning that he apparently passed muster.

"Yes ma'am," he muttered under his breath, following her from the alleyway. Despite the fact that she was wearing heels instead of combat boots, her cool and dogged determination reminded him of their mission in Russia. She was in her element – confident, bossy and assertive - and he was practically drinking in her presence.

"Relax, we're there to observe, nothing more," she reminded him as they approached the doors of club, no doubt having felt his tension at being disarmed as he fell naturally into step alongside her.

"Thanks Carter," he said sardonically, one hand in his trouser pocket as they walked. "But this isn't my first rodeo," he told her, their usual quick verbal sparring coming naturally to him as breathing.

Much as he hated to admit it, he had damn well missed her these past weeks.

* * *

The front for Dixon's gambling den was a rather swanky, though undeniably seedy, club on the Lower East Side. Upon entering Peggy's eyes immediately swept over the room, taking note of the windows, exits and the stairs that undoubtedly led down to the casino, guarded by two suited goons. It was busy without being crowded and she led Jack over to the bar.

It was a minute or so before she was able to catch the bartenders attention, but they were eventually served. "What's your poison?" the man asked in a vaguely Italian accent, his dark hair slicked back off his forehead.

"Two sidecars, shaken," she said, affecting an American accent and giving the pass-phrase to get downstairs.

The bartender nodded and slid two poker chips across the bar towards her; she handed one to Thompson and then headed over towards the stairs. They handed over the chips and the two goons patted Jack down to check for weapons. They also gave a cursory glance into Peggy's handbag, not bothering to look in any of the concealed pockets when they saw lipstick, a compact mirror, a comb and a coin-purse in the main compartment, and waved them down the stairs.

"How did you know the pass-phrase?" Thompson asked curiously as they entered the main casino floor – it was a fairly large area, no doubt the basement of the entire building, and contained tables for poker, Craps, Blackjack, Pai Gow and roulette, as well as another bar.

"Just because I wasn't in the office today doesn't mean I wasn't working on the case, I haven't been idle this afternoon," she said, her eyes automatically scanning the room. The men outnumbered the women two-to-one at least and there was not a single woman who seemed to be there on her own, all of them either with an arm around their waist or sitting on a man's lap. "Bourbon?" she offered, knowing that they would have to blend in and be inconspicuous.

Jack nodded, also casting his eyes around the joint. "I'll grab us a table."

They split up and she headed to the bar, weaving her way between the men with ease. She kept her eyes open, taking note of every person that she saw, as well as cataloguing the number of men on Dixon's security team and the doors that lead down to the casino cages, where the nights takings would be kept. She was quickly served at the bar, no doubt being bumped up the queue above already inebriated men due to her clothing, and bought two bourbons, neat.

She was just paying for them when she felt a hand on her back – she turned, instinctively on the defensive, and found herself face to face with a well dressed, but obviously drunk middle aged man. "Hey there, beautiful, looking for a good time?" he slurred at her.

She cast him a smile. "Thanks sugar, but I've already got a date for the night," she said dismissively, affecting an American accent once more.

The man patted his breast pocket, where there was an obvious wodge of money. "I've won big, maybe I can offer you a better time," he said, and she realised with some chagrin that he thought she was a woman of extremely loose morals.

An arm suddenly draped heavily around her shoulders. "Need some help carrying the drinks, doll?" Thompson said from beside her, looking every inch like a man staking his claim as he stared the drunk down.

She gave him a saccharine smile. "Thanks honey," she said in a purposefully vapid voice, passing him his drink and nodding at the drunken man. She allowed Jack to lead her away, towards a small table in the corner. "Keep your arm around me, Thompson, I overestimated the calibre of people here," she ordered quietly, still keeping a careful watch on their surroundings.

"We can always bail," he said as they sat down, with him in the corner with his arm spread out possessively over the back of her seat.

"And risk missing our prime suspect?" she said with mild incredulity, and then shook her head. "We'll do just enough not to draw attention to ourselves," she said, purposefully sitting far closer to him than she would normally, so that the arm over the back of her seat was draped casually around her shoulders. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her upper arm and she could smell his aftershave, as well as a hint of coffee.

He'd picked their table well: it was out of the way in a corner, but still had a clear view up the stairs to see people entering the club as well as the doorway that led to the cages. Jack kept his arm loosely around her as they sipped on their drinks and catalogued the people coming and going to the establishment. Even if their mission tonight came to naught, it was good to have eyes inside Dixon's operation as a potential suspect linked to Leviathan – though based on the two women that Dixon had sitting in his lap on the far side of the room and the amount that he was drinking he did not appear to have the temperament for espionage – the whole thing could well have been a bad tip.

Some time later, one of the bar-staff came over to clear their table. "You two were nursin' those drinks for quite some time," he said pointedly as he cleared their empty glasses, and she realised that by sitting out of the way and not going straight to the tables they were actually standing out.

"Trying to decide where to start, scoping out the competition" Jack said, jerking his chin at the tables.

"Poker tables hot tonight," the barman told them, speaking solely to Thompson, she noticed.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, then the arm that wasn't around her shoulders dipped into his jacket pocket and he handed the man a note. "Another round for me and the lady," he said lazily.

"You got it," he said, and then headed back towards the bar.

"Seen anything?" Thompson murmured to her once the man had gone.

Peggy shook her head. "The only people coming and going down to the cages are Dixon's employees."

"Adams could have stolen a uniform," he pointed out, though he didn't sound particularly convinced by the idea.

"Security is tight – look at them, they all know each other," she said, having been carefully watching the men at both the stairs and the cage doors. "An outsider wouldn't get in easily."

The barman returned with their drinks (and no change for the note even thought it had been more than enough to cover the cost, she noticed) and wordlessly headed back to the bar. From the corner of her eye she noticed him talking to another member of staff and sending covert glances in their direction.

Peggy turned to Thompson with a falsely sweet smile and put her hand on his knee. "We're starting to draw attention to ourselves," she said, leaning towards him as if to keep a seductive conversation under wraps, knowing that they had to up their game. "How are your poker skills?"

"Passable, not a fan though," Jack said, glancing down at her elegantly manicured hand resting on the knee of his grey work trousers. "Me and the boys used to play when I was stationed in Japan. Rations had only been issued that day and I lost the first bar of chocolate I'd seen in months to a bad hand."

She smile she gave him in response was partly genuine, amused by the note of annoyance that was evident in his voice. "The games a five card stud, with a royal deck," she said to test him, having been paying attention to the tables.

"Not a problem," he said instantly, evidently recognising the lingo.

"They're playing high," she pointed out as well, hoping that he had taken this into consideration before their mission.

He sent a small, sideways smile her way. "That's why I cashed in this weeks payroll at the bank this morning," he retorted, looking smug.

"You are a gambling man, aren't you," she said, slightly impressed with his forethought. She looked around the casino floor and made a decision. "Let's go for the poker table on the left, that gives us a view of the stairs and the cages. Nurse the drinks, we both want to be on guard."

Picking up their drinks, they headed over to the poker table on the left, where there was a haze of smoke lingering above the players – Peggy bit her tongue in annoyance as another man took one of the last remaining seats just before they reached the table, leaving only one empty space. Several men had a woman sitting in their lap, and she knew that she had to appear as if this wasn't a problem, perching on Thompson's knee with her arm draped around him – she could feel his surprise in the tension of his shoulders, but he masked it well and slipped an arm loosely around her waist as he was dealt into the round.

He was surprisingly good, knowing a lot of the slang involved in the game and playing with confidence, arrogance, even, that blended in well. Even whilst keeping her eye on the doors, she was able to help him, noticing the tells of the other players and patterns in their betting. She didn't let him win all the time, knowing that would draw even more attention to them.

As the night wore on, Thompson's arm around her waist slipped lower, pushing the boundaries of propriety (not that anyone else in the establishment was paying attention to such boundaries) and his thumb was brushing back and forward on the material of her dress. Peggy leant into him under the guise of whispering seductively to him. "Stop it," she hissed right into his ear, growing annoyed at him.

"This was your idea, sweetheart," he whispered back, casting her a half grin with his cards held loosely in his other hand. "Besides, compared to the others I'm not even being that bad." His hand slipped an inch lower, his smile lingering around his mouth. "I could do worse, if you like?" he offered, though she could tell that he wasn't being entirely serious.

Nevertheless, she surreptitiously dug her nails hard into the back of his neck to punish him.

* * *

The night wore on and Jack remained on reasonably good behaviour, doing his best to ignore Peggy sitting in his goddamn lap and focus on the mission at hand, a difficult task when he could feel the silk of her dress beneath his fingers and her nails digging into the back of his neck. The most exciting thing to happen in the gambling den was a man being caught cheating on the Blackjack table; he was beaten by the security and dragged out up the stairs, but no one so much as blinked an eye.

The poker table started to wind down: they were not the best at the table, both of them had been conscious not to draw more attention to themselves by winning even though Peggy had been able to scope out the competitions tells in minutes, but they still had near double what they had came with and others had lost heavily.

"I think this is a dead end," Peggy said softly to him as he sorted his cards, her sharp eyes constantly darting around the establishment.

"I'm starting to agree with you," he murmured back. There was no sign of Adams and no suspicious activity – well, nothing linked to Leviathan at any rate, there had been plenty of shady characters and dealing under the deck. "He could be waiting for closing, break into the cages when everyone is gone," he said, though his voice held little conviction.

Peggy shook her head. "Nothing is stored in the cages over night," she told him, leaning in to whisper in his ear to maintain their cover. "Takings will be transferred to an armoured car and driven to an undisclosed location. If I couldn't discover the destination then our mole won't have been able to in a single afternoon."

He nodded his understanding and some minutes later they both observed an unobtrusive, wheeled trolley being led from the cages, no doubt taking the houses extensive takings for the night. "Do we follow the car?" he asked her, raising his bet to meet the remaining players.

"We're not here to disrupt business, if there is an incident with the car then Dixon will be alerted," she said, her eyes flicking over towards where the notorious mobster was playing Pai Gow with a pretty blond perched on each knee.

Dixon had been guzzling drink and playing high all evening: he had been on their suspect list as being affiliated with Leviathan due to his notoriety in several criminal circles, but Jack was starting to think it had just been shoddy investigative work on his Agent's part to put him on the list. Dixon may be notorious, but based on the impression he gave this evening he was a run of the mill mobster, a big fish in the small New York pond and not linked to international espionage.

Several minutes later last call was announced and Dixon ambled up the stairs, a hand on the backside of each giggling blonde – they'd seen nothing suspicious, which meant it was time for them to transfer their attentions to Agent's Davis and Geller.

Jack threw down his cards. "Let's get out of here," he said, ready to call it a night, and he and Peggy left the table, walking with his arm around her shoulders once more.

It was midsummer though given the early hour of the morning the air was cool, refreshing after spending half the night in an underground basement. It was still dark, with the morning light not even showing in the sky over the East River yet. There were very few cars on the road, the only people around being party-goers making their way home after a night on the town. Jack tucked the nights winnings into his inside jacket pocket as they left the club. "We may not have got Adams but we still didn't do too badly out of the night. Looks like the boys are getting bonuses this week."

"We're being followed," Peggy said crisply, ignoring his offhand comment with her gaze fixed straight ahead as they walked and setting him instantly on the alert again. "The man just coming out of the club."

Jack glanced around casually, immediately noticing the man she was talking about – middle-aged, balding and wearing an expensive suit. He'd been at their poker table for half the night and had stared at Peggy more than his cards. Nevertheless, he had won big, evidently celebrating based on the amount he had drunk. "Could be nothing, he's stinking drunk," he said, ready for action and keeping his arm around her.

"Could be something if he is just pretending," Peggy pointed out, the handbag containing their weapons looped around one wrist as they walked.

"Circle the block, see if he follows," Jack ordered, and they kept walking, maintaining their charade with his arm slipping down her back to wrap around her waist instead. He didn't turn around, but he could still hear the staggering footsteps behind them.

"Still following. Let's see what he wants, shall we?" she suggested, the anticipation clear in her voice as they rounded the corner of the block.

Jack jerked his chin ahead of them towards a gap between two buildings . "There's an alley up ahead. We can lure him in, make him think he has us off guard."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked as they approached the mouth of the ally, intrigued.

He thought for a moment and then grabbed her hand, pulling her into alley. "Draw your gun and play along," he told her, leading her a dozen or so yards away from the road. He glanced over his shoulder, estimating that he had less than fifteen seconds before the man caught up with them. "Don't shoot me," he told her somewhat wryly since her gun was already drawn and in her hand, and then pushed her back against the brick wall.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she asked, glaring fiercely at him as her back hit the wall.

"What does it look like?" he retorted, glancing at the mouth of the alley once again and then picking up her leg to hitch it around his hip, feeling the lace top of her stocking beneath his fingers. He bent over her neck as if to kiss her throat, his mouth not actually coming into contact with her skin; he could smell the subtle scent of her soap and perfume, the scent that had been teasing him half the night with her sitting on his knee.

He heard the safety being clicked off the gun and then felt the barrel pressed firmly into his common iliac artery. "I realise this is part of your idiotic plan, but if that hand moves any higher I will nail your balls to this wall, do you understand?" Peggy snarled into his ear, pressing the gun into his abdomen hard enough to bruise.

"Noted," he breathed with a small chuckle, just below her ear – the hand on her thigh moved no higher, but he could not stop his thumb sweeping once, twice, over the lace top of her stocking that was right beneath his fingers. "Now play along," he chided.

He could feel her irritation, no doubt wanting nothing more than to push him off and slug him in the jaw, then the hand not pressing a gun into him came up to grasp his hair a little too tightly, showing her annoyance. His breath caught on her skin at the feeling of her fingers in his hair and he wondered briefly if she could feel it. Other than the hand at her thigh he was not actually touching her, his other hand braced on the wall beside her head. "Did he follow?" he asked, speaking into the hollow between her neck and shoulders.

He felt her tilt her head towards the road. "Yes," she said quietly.

Jack pulled away from her ever so slightly, keeping his hand holding her leg up around his hip but turning his head to look down the alley – sure enough, the drunk man was lingering at the mouth, one hand braced on the wall for support. "Something we can help you with, pal?" he asked his voice dry and sardonic.

The man was looking solely at Peggy. "How much for a turn when he's done?" he slurred, almost falling against the wall. Jack blinked once, realising what the man wanted – considering the calibre of the women he'd seen in the club, his assumption was not really surprising, nevertheless he was torn between indignant anger and amusement that_ Peggy Carter_, of all people, could ever be mistaken for a call-girl.

There was a beat of silence, then Peggy smiled at the man. "I'm not taking any other customers tonight, sugar," she drawled, faking an American accent flawlessly.

The man sighed. "Figured my luck wouldn't last," he said, pushing himself off from the wall. "Another time, perhaps."

"You got it, hon," Peggy said, and they waited until he stumbled away down the road.

Amusement won out – he dropped his head and chuckled into her shoulder. This whole night was a bust: no suspicious activity in the club and their tail turned out to be nothing more than your average-Joe, chasing after some skirt.

His laughter turned to wheezing when Peggy slugged him hard in the gut, sending him staggering back. Winded, he rubbed his stomach. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded, staring at her.

"You enjoyed that far too much, you _rat_," she snapped, stalking past him towards the main road with her heels clicking, her gun still in her hand.

That was true, he thought with a grin as she walked away. He was more than a bit tickled at the idea of her being mistaken for a red woman and he wasn't too proud to admit to himself that this whole night had been some kind of strange torture, what with constantly having his arm around her, having her perched on his lap and then having her goddamn leg wrapped around his hip with his hand on her thigh. Still rubbing his stomach, he followed after her. "Considering that I know from experience that you can knock me out with a single punch, I can only assume that you're not actually that mad."

She didn't reply, pausing on the kerb and casting her gaze up and down the road. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting a cab, we're done for the night," she said in a tone that brooked no argument – if he wasn't made of sterner stuff he probably would have withered on the spot.

"My car's around the block," he pointed out, but she didn't reply.

A cab drove passed and she lifted her hand, but the yellow light was off, indicating that the cabbie already had passengers, and the car didn't stop. While they waited Jack pulled off his jacket, draping it over his arm; the night was mild enough that he didn't need it.

Twice more cabs drove by over the next few minutes without stopping and Peggy let out a gusty sigh. Jack gestured down the block with his hand. "Come on, Carter," he said simply, walking down the road without waiting to see if she would follow him – he hid a smile when she fell into step beside him, easily keeping up with his long strides, even in heels.

When they reached his car Jack automatically walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her. As he did so, he noticed that she was still seething with anger, a fetching red high on her normally pale cheeks. He grinned at her. "What's the matter, Carter? Did I ruffle your feathers back there?" he asked as she climbed into the car, giving him a view of the seam that ran up the backs of her nylons once again.

His were certainly ruffled, he couldn't stop thinking about the lace-top of her stocking and had spent the past few minutes imagining rolling it down her leg while they'd waited for a non-existent cab.

"You are incorrigible," she snapped as she settled into the front seat. He shrugged to himself as he closed the door behind her: considering the direction his thoughts had taken, she was not wrong.

Getting in behind the wheel, he started up the ignition. "I'm guessing you're not at The Griffith any more," he said rhetorically, knowing that this was the case from his investigative work to track her down for the mission, though he hadn't been able to trace her current address.

"Not since you and Daniel terrorised the place, no," she said coolly and then rattled off a fancy address on the Upper East Side. Jack raised his eyebrows at the up-market address and drove in silence. The streets were relatively empty this time of night, with those out on the town long since heading to bed and the morning workers and commuters not yet up, so they made good time, whizzing through several intersections.

He pulled up in front of the towering, ostentatious block that she had mentioned and leaned forwards to look up at it through the windscreen. "Nice building," he said honestly, wondering how the hell she afforded such a place on SSR wages. The Griffith had been nice, but this was another calibre of fancy altogether.

Wordlessly, Peggy unbuckled her seatbelt and he started to do the same – she instantly shot a glare in his direction. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her ire evidently not cooled at all.

"Walking you up," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He hadn't been out on a date in some time (not that this _was_ a date, he reminded himself) but it had always been drummed into him that it was only good manners to make sure that a lady got home safe.

"I can manage," she said coolly as she opened the car door herself, pausing only to hand his gun back to him.

Well, she was evidently still annoyed; he wondered if she was as frustrated as he was that it had been a dead end or if she was still ticked off at his actions in the alley. "Hey," he said, leaning over the passenger seat to speak to her through the open door. "You're still coming in later, right?"

"Mission isn't finished yet," she said pointedly, then cast an annoyed look his way. "Looks like you missed the mark with your guess of a prime suspect," she said bitingly.

Jack shrugged. "It was a long shot anyway," he admitted, having picked Adams the prime suspect over Davis and Geller due to his slightly slovenly attitude, thinking it might have been an act. He drummed his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel, still leaning over to talk to her. "What are you in the mood for tomorrow night? Stake out at Levourne's, or a night swing dancing at Becket's joint?" he asked, the way he said it almost making it sound like a date.

Peggy thought for a moment, lingering by the open car door. "Levourne," she said simply. "After tonight I think I need a break from being out in public with you," she added, her tone slightly catty.

Stake out then. She didn't want to be in public with him but she was happy to sit in a car alone with him in a secluded spot for half the night, Jack thought, hiding a smile at the implication – he had some fond memories of parking with a couple of girls back when he was a teenager. He would have to be on his best behaviour if he didn't want to be on the receiving end of her aggression again, twice in one day was bad enough.

He nodded and Peggy continued. "We'll let Davis overhear plans for a supposed exchange taking place at Levourne's home tomorrow," she said, drumming her fingers on the rim of the car door. "His desk is beside the coffee machine, so we will discuss plans there at eleven hundred hours, if he is our mole it gives him enough time to call it in."

Jacks mouth twitched up into a smirk. "A coffee date it is then," he said, purposefully trying to rile her some – he couldn't help it, he enjoyed seeing her eyes flash with fire. He grinned when she glared at him again. "Night Carter."

* * *

**NEXT UP, Jack and Peggy are on their stake out when the case take an unexpected turn ...**

**Every time you review Jack will take off his shirt - and if that isn't an incentive then I don't know what is :p**

**Also, Thanks to #dontbesillywefall for proofing for me and #cravinghoneydukes, if your reading this, I saw your offer to beta but didn't have a way to contact you on Tumblr. If you're still interested I'd be happy to have a second (or third, even!) pair of eyes for the next chapter :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Agent Timothy Davis was sitting at his desk reviewing some recent lab reports when he heard the unfamiliar sound of clicking heels behind him. The infamous Agent Carter walked past his station, heading towards the coffee machine without so much as a word or glance in his direction. His eyes followed her, still unused to a woman that wasn't Betty, the coffee-girl, wandering around the office. Reactions to her presence back in the SSR were mixed: those who had been there before the Leviathan attack were pretty respectful, saying that she had proved her worth, but Davis and several others who were new to the team were unconvinced. His gaze dipped down to the hem of her skirt as she stood at the machine with her back to him – the woman had a fine pair of pins though, he had to give her that.

"Don't normally see you going for the coffee," Chief Thompson said to her as he approached the machine as well, one hand in his trouser pocket. He stood beside her and fished a mug of his own out of the cupboard. Davis could hear every word they were saying and he listened curiously with his eyes fixed on the file in front of him - word around the office was that Carter was sweet on the Chief but he'd turned her down, which was why she'd slapped him. "Late night was it, Carter? Some fella sweep you off your feet?"

"Clearly you wouldn't know since you've never used this machine, but it produces hot water for tea as well," Agent Carter responded coolly, tearing open the paper packet of a teabag to place in her hot water, seemingly unimpressed by his comments.

Thompson snorted slightly as he poured coffee from the pot into his mug. "Thought you'd like to know that we got a hit on the francium stabilising agent."

"Oh?" he heard Carter say interestedly, her back still to him.

"Ever hear of Gregory Levourne?" Thompson asked, reaching for the sugar and naming one of the main suspects on their surveillance list, piquing Davis' interest in their conversation further.

"Millionaire socialite, made his fortune in rather disreputable ways," Carter said knowledgeably, stirring her drink. "Lives out in a mansion on Long Island, if I remember correctly."

"That's him, he's got his fingers in a lot of pies - you Brits take it with cream, right?" he added, handing the cream to her, their fingers just brushing. The Chief then turned to brace his back against the counter with his mug in his hand, his head still turned to face her. "Word is that he bought the stabilising agent from Brannis before he died."

"Is he looking to sell?" she asked curiously, adding the cream and stirring her tea once more before lightly tapping the spoon several times against the rim.

Thompson shrugged. "Hard to say, I'll send a team to his home retrieve it and question him tomorrow." Davis perked up even more at that; over the past week and a half he had felt like he had barely gotten any assignments for some reason, hopefully he would be put on the retrieval team, maybe even be allowed to help with the questioning. Meanwhile Thompson raised a brow at her, his tone turning particularly pointed. "Your boy Stark will be pleased to get his toy back."

Carter turned to face him, her undeniably pretty features set into stern lines. "Stark is not my _boy_, I don't know how many times I have to repeat myself on that front," she said, sounding irked at his assumption. She turned and walked away without another word to the Chief, heading back to her station with her mug of tea and Thompson staring after her.

Davis pressed his lips together – yeah, there was _definitely_ something going on between the two of them, he thought, shaking his head.

* * *

"Not clocking out?" Sousa asked her as the clock ticked towards seven, standing beside her desk with his jacket in his hand.

Peggy glanced up from the stack of surveillance reports on her desk, having occupied herself for the day doing further research on Levourne and preparing for their stake out that night. "Not yet, no," she said, sighing as she snapped a file closed and moved on to another. "You leave for three weeks and everything goes to hell in a hand-basket," she added irately, mostly to herself.

"It'll keep until tomorrow," Daniel said mildly, lingering by her station. He looked down at his feet briefly before returning his gaze to her, a small and hopeful smile playing around his mouth. "I thought maybe we could -"

"Carter," Thompson said briskly, emerging from his office and interrupting Daniel mid-flow. He dropped another file atop of her work and then perched on the edge of her desk. "I'm gonna need everything Stark's got data analysis-wise on the francium by tonight, I hope you didn't have plans because it looks like you're staying late," he told her, picking up one of the surveillance reports she'd been working on and flicking through it.

Ignoring Thompson, Peggy cast a smile in Sousa's direction. "I'll see you tomorrow, Daniel," she said kindly, knowing full well that Thompson had '_asked_' her to stay late since they were meant to be heading out on their mission and she would not actually be doing data analysis on reports that didn't exist. She found herself slightly grateful for the rude interruption, positive that Daniel had been about to ask her out for a drink again; she was aware of his crush and had been trying not to do anything that could be seen as encouraging.

"Yeah," he said, sounding slightly put out. He shifted his crutch in his hand and mustered a smile. He glanced at Jack, perched on her desk as if he belonged there, then back down to Peggy. "Don't let him work you too hard," he added, only half joking, then he turned and headed out of the bullpen.

Thompson waited until the lift doors closed behind him, leaving them as the last two in the SSR, and then snapped the file closed. He jerked his chin at her, still sitting on the edge of her desk. "You happy to head straight out to Long Island from here?"

"Yes, that's fine," she said dismissively, still more than a little annoyed at him for his behaviour the night before and his comments regarding Howard when they had been baiting Davis earlier. She returned her attention to her work, moving the report he had dumped there out of the way so that she could find the necessary files they would need tonight for their stake out – primarily an index of Levourne's staff, along with several known associates and their licence plates.

"Have you eaten yet?" she heard him ask, but she didn't reply, immersed in the paragraph that she was reading. Thompson snapped his fingers sharply at her to catch her attention. "Carter?"

"Hmm?" she said, looking up at him once more.

"You know what, never mind," he said, briefly returning to his office and emerging with his hat and jacket, jerking his head down the bullpen. "Lets go."

* * *

They were just driving out through Mineola, about ten minutes from Levourne's mansion, when Thompson pulled off the road and into a diner. They had driven mostly in silence aside from Peggy navigating the whole way from the city but now she frowned at him. "What are we doing here?" she asked.

"Dinner, I'll just be a minute," he explained, getting out and leaving her in the car.

Realising that she was actually pretty hungry, she didn't protest and occupied herself looking through the files once more while he was inside. He returned some minutes later with a large brown paper bag and two drinks in a cardboard holder, which he passed to her, wedging the bag between them. She inspected the drinks and was surprised to find that one of them was tea – considering it was from a cheap diner it would be passable at best, but she had to give him points for remembering.

They drove the rest of the way and turned into the private access road that lead to Levourne's sprawling mansion. They trundled along the dark lane for a few minutes and, once the house came into view, Thompson pulled off onto the grass beneath the cover of some trees and killed the engine. They had a view right up to the front of the house, as well as the main driveway, but they were reasonably concealed in the bushes.

Peggy handed him his coffee wordlessly, looking up at the lights in the house. "Still annoyed about last night?" Thompson asked, evidently having picked up on her mood and sending a glance her way.

She didn't reply, choosing instead to take a sip of her overly-milky tea.

She _was_ annoyed at how their mission had played out the night before but not, perhaps, for the reasons that he thought. Grudgingly, she knew that his cover back in the alley had made sense – had they simply jumped the man, weapons ready, they could have had a police investigation on their hands; Thompson's actions had allowed all three of them to walk away, with the drunk man none the wiser.

Despite the bother of having to play up their act as a couple in the club she had actually enjoyed herself last night, which was something she hadn't expected – it was good to be back out in the field, to be undercover again. Even though the mission itself hadn't been fruitful, she'd enjoyed monitoring the guards, figuring out the other gamblers' tells and cataloguing everyone that had come in, finding no small amount of satisfaction in taking the lead on the mission.

What had annoyed her was how easily and confidently Thompson had slotted into that particular cover – his thumb brushing casually back and forward over the material of her dress in the club and his fingers actually daring to touch the lace of her stockings in that alley. She'd been annoyed at his arrogance and his cocky attitude, and she had been utterly furious at _herself_ the long-dormant, but familiar swooping sensation she had felt in her lower belly when he had pushed her back against that wall.

"Peggy, I did the bare minimum to keep our cover," he told her when she didn't respond, his hands wrapped loosely around the steering wheel and his hat low on his forehead. "You know I would never treat you like that."

"I was not annoyed by your actions, I was annoyed by the smug look on your face," she said honestly, her lips set into a tight, thin line as she remembered the way he had dropped his head and laughed into her neck once the drunk man had left.

"Any man would be smug with you in his lap," Thompson muttered into the rim of his coffee cup, probably not intending for her to hear his words.

Nevertheless, she sent a glare in his direction and he let out a small sigh, half raising one shoulder. "I'm sorry, alright?"

"Apology accepted," Peggy said briskly, nodding once and returning her gaze to the mansion. There were many lights on and members of staff coming and going between the buildings, and so she pulled out the dossier on Levourne that she had bought with her and a pair of binoculars so that they could start to monitor activity, keeping their eyes open for any sign of Davis. "But if you ever put your hand on my thigh again I will not hesitate to break your fingers," she added firmly, flicking through the file until she found the relevant page.

Thompson grinned beside her, leaning back in his seat with the heel of one hand braced on the steering wheel, clearly amused. "You sure know how to sweet talk a guy," he said dryly, then dug his other hand into the large paper bag beside him to pull out the food. "Now, hamburger or cheese?"

* * *

A little over two hours later, they had long since finished their food and had occupied themselves by monitoring activity around the mansion. The security team was following an easily spotted and repeated pattern, with a guard walking around the house with a torch every thirteen minutes. Several cars had come and gone, but they had used the binoculars to check their licence plates off against the list that Peggy had put together. So far there had been no suspicious activity.

Headlights suddenly appeared down the access road that they were on. "Here we go, what's this?" Thompson said, while Peggy grabbed his shoulder to push him down slightly so that they weren't instantly on view.

They hunkered down in their seats, watching as the car trundled slowly towards them – too slowly, Peggy thought. "They're scouting the perimeter," she said softly, staring at the headlights and trying to make out the details of the car.

Jack had the keys in the ignition, ready to turn them at a moments notice. "Think we've been made?" he asked, on the alert and watching the approaching car.

There was a moments silence, then Peggy frowned and shook her head. "It's a cop car," she said with some surprise, recognising the distinctive shape of the vehicle as it approached.

They waited in silence as the car pulled up near to them and a rather large guy got out, a torch in his hand. They glanced quickly at each other as the cop approached the drivers side door, Peggy with her gun concealed and at the ready in one hand. The cop knocked on the window and Thompson sighed and rolled it down. "Evenin'" the cop said to them as he shined his torch in the car, briefly over Peggy and into the back seat.

"Something we can help you with?" Jack asked pointedly, sounding annoyed in the extreme.

"This here's a private access road," the cop said disapprovingly, his jowls quivering slightly.

Thompson reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his badge. "Agents Thompson and Carter of the SSR, running surveillance on Levourne," he said in a dry voice.

The cop blinked and snorted slightly, evidently surprised. "Thought I'd stumbled across a couple of teenagers, this area's popular for parking, if you know what I mean."

Jack glanced at her, a half smile playing around his mouth. "Is it now?" he said wryly, raising a brow slightly and making Peggy glare at him.

"What's the old bugger been up to to get on a surveillance watch?" the cop continued curiously, shining his light up towards the main house.

Thompson was quick to push his hand down – the light of a torch could be easily seen, though it would do little good since the cop had left his headlights on, flooding the shaded grove where they had pulled up with light. "Little above your pay-grade, pal," he said dismissively, his annoyance clearly growing with every word from the guys mouth.

"Anything I can do to help?" the cop asked almost eagerly, and Peggy realised that coming across two federal agents running surveillance was possibly the most exciting thing that had happened to him on the job for some time. Based on his paunch, it was likely that he spent a lot of his time behind a desk and not out on the streets.

"Yeah, two coffees would be great," Thompson said instantly, digging around in his jacket pocket for some cash, which he handed to him through the window. "Maybe some doughnuts too, if you can rustle some up."

"Jack," Peggy said warningly.

He glanced quickly at her before returning his gaze to the cop. "Sorry – make that one coffee and one tea, with cream," he amended, completely missing the point of her warning and making her shake her head (and smile, but only slightly) at his arrogance.

"Right," the cop said, sounding slightly thrown by the request. "I'll, uh, be back in a bit then," he said, and then ambled slowly back over to his car, folding himself in behind the wheel.

Peggy shook her head at him again as the policeman drove away. "You're unbelievable," she said disapprovingly.

Jack grinned at her, unrepentant. "You won't be complaining if he comes back with the goods, sweetheart. We've got a long night ahead of us," he said wryly, opening the dossier once again as another car headed up Levourne's driveway.

Approximately twenty minutes later the police car returned and the large man shuffled over towards them with two disposable cups and another paper bag. Thompson gave her a look and then wound down the window once more so that the cop could hand them through.

"Thanks pal," he said jauntily, accepting his change with a patronising smile.

"You two, uh, have a nice night," the cop said, seemingly unsure of what protocol was in this situation – she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd thought they were his superiors due to their rank as federal agents even though they had nothing to do with law enforcement, per se.

Jack gave him a dismissive, faux salute and wound up the window without so much as another word. The cop headed slowly back towards his car and Jack passed the paper cup containing tea to Peggy. "What's that?" he said with mild sarcasm as she took it from him, tilting his head and touching his earlobe with one finger. "Well would you look at that, not a single complaint."

"Stuff it, Thompson," Peggy said simply, reaching into the paper bag for one of the doughnuts.

* * *

It was approaching midnight and Jack was tapping his fingers constantly against the steering wheel, the numerous cups of coffee he'd drunk that day making him feel tense and wired. He didn't like just sitting still like this: it made him feel as if he was doing nothing productive.

"What's wrong?" Peggy asked him, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour.

"Nothing," he said instantly, shaking his head and staring up at the house – his fingers kept tapping, belaying his agitation.

"Jack," she said simply, staring at him curiously with those dark, inscrutable eyes of hers – Christ, she could read him so well sometimes.

He let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretched out as far as the car would allow. "I get the impression that we are not even a thorn in Leviathan's side and it's really starting to chafe my ass," he admitted bitterly, then glanced in her direction. "They weren't interested in us at all until we found Stark's cache of weapons and now I feel like they're running circles around us."

"Dottie moved in next to me before we found the weapons," Peggy pointed out.

Jack shook his head. "Brannis and Demidov knew you were hot on the case, monitoring you as both an Agent and an associate of Stark makes sense," he told her, having been thinking it through. "But as for actual action against the SSR … Krezminsky's death was the first, quickly followed by luring us to Russia." He braced the heel of one hand against the steering wheel and glanced at her again. "Aside from the work you did, they've played us like a damn tune."

There was a brief silence, then he looked at her once more; she was gazing up at the mansion, looking a bit like a marble statue in the dim light, all flawless features and cool countenance. Jack blinked, hesitated, then spoke again. "I know I haven't said as much, but I am grateful for you helping out," he admitted honestly – and it wasn't just her help with the case, he was glad to have her back in general.

There was a moments pause and then she turned and smiled at him. It was not a full blown grin, rather it was a small and soft smile, but it was genuine - quite possibly the first genuine smile she had ever sent in his direction.

He tapped his fingers briefly on his knee, feeling brave. "Can I ask a personal question?" he wanted to know.

"Just one?" Peggy retorted skeptically, glancing at him.

"Why did you stay at the SSR?" he asked – he'd asked her this once before, back in the interrogation room when he'd had a few too many swigs from the bottle of bourbon that he'd bought the homeless bum Sousa was questioning, and she'd answered '_to uphold democracy_' – well, call him a cynic, but he felt like there was more to her motives than that. She gave him a questioning look and he elaborated. "You did good work, _real_ work, during the war and then when peace came you were relegated to secretary." He shook his head slightly, a frown affixed to his face, and watched her curiously. "Why did you stay?"

Peggy pursed her lips and paused before replying. "The SSR is all I have known for some years now, even if its glory days have passed," she admitted, sounding slightly sad.

Jack hesitated, still tapping his fingers, watching her. "You ever consider settling down?" he wanted to know.

"Cooking and cleaning for some average-Joe like a good little housewife?" Peggy retorted instantly with cynical incredulity, her tone firm. "No, thank you."

He snorted slightly, amused in spite of himself. "I can't exactly picture you as the apron and curlers type, Carter," he said honestly, but still pressed forward with his question – dammit, he was _curious_, he suspected that his crush (as Dooley had put it) was more than just an appreciation of her looks, confidence or smart mouth, rather it was growing deeper than that. "But even with your work at the SSR you must want a family, all dames do."

Peggy's annoyance with him seemed to be growing once more, even though he hadn't actually intended to rile her up for once. "Just because we're working together does not give you a free pass to interrogate me on my personal life," she said briskly, her tone inviting no further questions as her gaze returned pointedly to Levourne's mansion.

"You expect us to just sit here in silence for the rest of the night?" Jack asked her with mild incredulity.

"No, of course not," she replied blandly, then reached forward to flick on the radio.

* * *

For approximately three hours neither of them spoke a single word despite being stuck together in the enclosed space. There was no sign of Davis or any other any suspicious activity up in the house, with many of the lights out, and so they simply listened to the radio in silence, alert for any sign of a break in. Tense and bored, Jack was leaning forward with his arms folded over the top of the steering wheel, resting his chin on them to stare out at the quiet mansion. He was acutely aware of Peggy sitting still and silent beside him with the dossier on her lap.

This time of the night (or early hours of the morning, rather) the music had shifted from up-tempo jazz and swing numbers to songs that were softer and more melodious. Time seemed to drag at a snails-pace with the slow, steady beats and the gently crooning voice of Sinatra crackling through the speakers. _"You might discover that I'm the lover meant for you … And I'd be true … but what's the good of scheming … I know I must be dreaming … 'Cos I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you -"_

Jack sighed and switched off the radio with one hand; Peggy did not ask why.

There was another long silence, then Jack leaned back in his seat with his legs stretched out in front of him. "I'd forgotten how boring stake outs are," he said, his voice slightly rusty after not having spoken in so long.

For a moment he thought Peggy wasn't even going to even bother replying to him, but then she spoke, "Just be grateful that it's warm, I once spent three days in the German mountains and nearly lost a toe to frostbite."

He looked at her curiously. "Yeah?" he asked, half-hoping to actually start a conversation with her after his last disastrous attempt. "What was that for?"

She turned to him, raising one elegantly arched brow. "Personal questions again?"

"Professional," he retorted, pleased to hear exasperation over anger in her voice. "Half your file is redacted, I don't actually know a lot about your past missions."

"Yes, there is a reason for that," she said and he wondered if she was being mysterious on purpose or if she would give him anything else. She glanced at him and continued, her voice low and quiet. "I was breaking Dr Erskine out of Schmidt's dungeons and smuggling him out of Germany," she admitted.

Jack raised his brows, thinking of the implications of what she just said – given Erskine's importance to the Allied Forces, it was highly likely that that one mission changed the entire outcome of the war. "That was you?"

"Why do you think I was put in charge of overseeing Project Rebirth?" she put to him, her expression ever so slightly smug.

"I'm impressed," he said honestly.

Peggy smiled at him, but then her attention was instantly captured by something out of the front window and she sat bolt upright. "There's a car heading for the mansion, no lights," she said, grabbing her binoculars and lifting them to her eyes.

"Can you make out the licence plate?" he asked, instantly on the alert. He reached over to grab the file from her lap, turning to the page of Levourne's known associates.

She had the binoculars pressed to her face, leaning forwards intently. "9-S-1-0-5-4," she rattled off quickly, then looked at him expectantly.

He scanned the page. "Not on the list," he said as the car pulled up in front of the house.

"Little late for an unexpected social call, don't you think?" Peggy said, staring at him and positively brimming with excitement.

"I do," he agreed, already feeling the adrenalin pumping. He tossed the file into the back seat, checked his gun in his holster, and yanked on his door-handle. "Let's go."

Keeping low, they stole across the grounds towards the house and, staying close against the wall, crept around towards the front. They edged up to the corner, Jack standing right behind Peggy as she ingeniously used her compact mirror to peer around. Craning his neck to see, they saw a plain black sedan parked up on the gravel in front of the main doors.

They heard voices from one of the ornate windows behind them and, glancing at each other, hurried over to listen in.

"The scientists are growing nervous," a man said, sounding anxious and frantic. "We have hit dead end after dead end -"

"This delay is unacceptable," another voice that Jack recognised as Gregory Levourne said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Zodiac grows impatient."

Jack glanced at Peggy. "_Zodiac_?" he mouthed to her – she had her lips parted into a small o of surprise at the name.

"There's no way -" the first man started to say, but he was cut off.

"There _is_ a way," Levourne said sternly, followed by something that sounded like a fist being slammed on a table. "The Allies found a way and you will too … unless you fear your usefulness has run its course?"

"No, no it hasn't!" the first man said, clearly terrified. "It, I -"

A beam of light suddenly appeared on the grass near to them – it was the security guard that they had seen circling the perimeter numerous times that night and he was seconds from rounding the corner where they were standing.

Peggy swore under her breath, her language surprisingly foul, and then grabbed his arm to pull him around the corner towards the front of the house, away from the window. Levourne's mansion was finished off with art-deco pillars around the main doors and she pushed him behind one seconds before the security guard came around the front of the house. The pillar was narrow and, in order to conceal them both, Jack had his back to it with Peggy pressed against him, holding on to her shoulders – as the security guard walked passed them they edged further around the pillar, keeping it between them and the guard.

After a moment, Jack craned his head to check if the guard was gone. He exhaled a shaky breath. "We're clear for another thirteen minutes," he said, since they had timed how often the guard came on his rounds.

"Wait here," Peggy ordered, then took off at a run into the darkness.

"Carter!" he hissed after her, but she had vanished – Jack hesitated, wondering if he should follow, but rationalised that she was a competent Agent who could handle damn-near anything. He slipped around the corner back to the window, hoping to gain more intel on this mysterious Zodiac that Levourne had mentioned – there were no voices and, glancing inside, he saw that the room was empty. They had left, probably heading back towards the main doors – and Peggy was still out in the open.

He instantly turned to go and find her, only for her to round the corner almost the exact same time he was. He seized her arms as they nearly collided. "What the hell were you doing?" he demanded in a low voice, hearing the car start from the front of the house.

"I planted a transponder on the car, the signal will allow us to track it," she replied, keeping her voice quiet.

Dammit, he was impressed – he hadn't thought to bring any kind of tracking equipment with them, armed only with his gun, but Peggy seemed to have prepared for every eventuality. "As if we didn't already have our hands full with Leviathan," he said as the tagged car sped off down the driveway, still neglecting to use their headlights in order to remain inconspicuous.

"Just another day at the office, Chief Thompson," Peggy said, only half joking.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away from the house. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said, and the two of them jogged back to his car, sticking to the shadows of the trees. They got into the car, both of them instinctively closing the doors quietly instead of slamming them. There was a brief pause as they both caught their breath. "Zodiac," Jack said simply, staring straight ahead out of the window.

"Zodiac," Peggy replied, nodding once.

There was a strange note in her voice, making Jack glance over at her. "Sound familiar?"

She nodded once again, her expression grim. "I remember reading the name in an old war file that was linked to a HYDRA sect, but I can't remember much about it," she said, sounding annoyed at herself. "The file should still be at the office though."

Jack shook his head, digging in his pocket for his car keys. "No, it won't be," he told her. "I have the old HYDRA files at my place."

Peggy gave him a highly curious look. "Your place?"

"When I realised we had a mole I moved some of the more incriminating and classified files out of the office," he admitted, shrugging one shoulder as he started the car. "I have a hidey-hole at my apartment that they're being kept in."

"Smart move," she complimented, then reached for her seatbelt. "Let's go."

* * *

Jack's apartment was smaller than she'd expected; it had only the one bedroom and was on the fourth floor of a building in the West Village. The living room and kitchen were both blended together, containing a couch, two seater table and bookshelves that were used more for a stack of magazines and a radio than many actual books. There was a coffee pot on the counter, dirty dishes in his sink and a whiskey glass resting upside-down on the draining board.

_Bachelor_ was the first word that came to Peggy's mind, quickly followed by _rarely used _– it was clear that Jack spent more time at the office than here.

Thompson tossed his jacket over the arm of the sofa and headed into the kitchen area. "Make yourself at home," he told her, only being half-sarcastic and, possibly, she thought, a little self-conscious at having her in his home.

"You don't entertain much, do you?" she said mildly, putting her handbag on the sofa alongside his jacket as she looked around. She picked up the first magazine on the stack on the bookshelf to examine it, unsurprised to find that it was on baseball.

Jack ignored her – looking around, she was surprised to see him crouching down in the kitchen with his head in the oven. "Please tell me you're not keeping classified government files in your oven?" she asked with a faint sigh; as far as hidey-holes went, it wasn't the most inconspicuous of places.

Thompson shook his head and, with a heave, pulled the bottom of his oven completely out, resting it on the floor against the counter. "Nah, I cut out the base, files are beneath the floorboards," he told her, levering up the wooden planks beneath and sticking his head inside once more. "Means the main oven doesn't work but the gas stove is fine and I boil everything anyway," he told her, his voice echoing oddly and making her smile. He handed her a stack of papers. "Take these," he said, then went to grab some more to hand out to her.

By the time he was done there was a stack of papers about a foot high on his small table. Peggy sighed at the disorganisation, picking up the first sheet which should have been filed under M. "Let me guess, you grabbed them from the office and then stored them with absolutely no thought for the filing system," she said pointedly, giving him a penetrating stare.

He gave her a sheepish look and she shook her head at him. "I'm starting to think you actually _don't_ know the alphabet," she said exasperatedly, pulling out a chair to sit down at his small table. "This may take a while."

"I'll stick on a pot of coffee," he said apologetically, since it was the early hours of the morning and they would probably be working for some time.

Forty-five minutes later found the two of them still sitting at the table, surrounded by papers spread out everywhere. Peggy had refused the offer of coffee, but Jack had just started on his second cup since arriving at his apartment. He'd rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie slightly, frowning down at the file he was scanning with a crease between his brows.

"Here we are, Zodiac," he said suddenly, speaking for the first time in nearly twenty minutes and making Peggy jerk her head up to look at him. He continued reading; "Splinter group of HYDRA's science division formed after the death of Schmidt. Tasked with creating …"

"Yes?" she prompted when he trailed off, his frown deepening.

He glanced up from the paper, his expression serious as he met her eyes. "They are the team of scientists tasked with creating the bastardised version of the Super Soldier Serum being headed by Armin Zola."

There was a brief pause, their eyes locked. "We have Zola in custody," Peggy pointed out, her voice quavering ever so slightly as she tried to ignore the sick feeling she had in her stomach at the prospect of someone recreating the Serum.

"But a team is continuing his work," Jack said, his forehead furrowed deeply.

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," she muttered – during the war they would joke _'let's go find two more' _or_ 'I guess we'll keep cutting them off,'_ but now, after everything that had happened with Leviathan, the prospect of going after a HYDRA splinter group was almost exhausting. She sighed and shook her head. "Anything else?"

Jack's eyes skimmed over the rest of the file. "Rumoured to be twelve of them in the team, going by aliases named after Zodiac signs," his mouth curled in mild disgust. "Doesn't sound melodramatic in the slightest."

Peggy couldn't help but agree with him; she stood and came around the table, reading the file over his shoulder with one hand braced on the back of his chair. "First HYDRA, then Leviathan, now this Zodiac - who comes up with this rubbish?" she wanted to know.

Jack cast an utterly unamused smile up at her. "At least we'll always know the bad guys by their pretentious names," he said as he dropped the file on the table and rubbed his temples. "If Zodiac are working with Leviathan, I'm imagining those Russian assassins with Super Soldier abilities and it's really starting to give me a headache," he added, reaching forward to pick up his half-empty coffee mug once more.

She plucked it out of his hands. "I'm cutting you off," she said firmly, walking over to his sink and pouring the rest of the tar-like substance down the drain.

"It's coffee, not booze," he complained, giving her an incredulous frown.

"Yes and I don't think I have ever seen you this tense," she told him; he had been wired in the car, his fingers tapping agitatedly, and this was at least his fourth cup of the night. "It's four in the morning, Jack, let's just get some sleep," she said tiredly, leaning back against his kitchen counter. It had been a long night and she felt like she needed to regain some energy if they were to be going after both Leviathan _and_ Zodiac. "If Agent Geller is our mole then hopefully we will know by tomorrow evening. I'll look into Zodiac tomorrow at the office and track the car, there's nothing more we can do at this time of night."

"Even if Geller _is_ our mole, it doesn't make us any closer to stopping Leviathan," Jack pointed out, still sitting at the table with the files spread out in front of him.

"No," she admitted, knowing that the work would not stop once they found their informant. "But it is one less thing to worry about."

Jack sighed, glancing at the masses of files, and then nodded his reluctant agreement.

Peggy pushed herself away from the counter she was leaning against. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, crossing the small living space to pick up her handbag.

"Where are you going?" he asked her, frowning deeply.

She gave him a confused look. "Back to my apartment," she said, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

"You live on the other side of the city, by the time you get there you'll have barely two hours sleep before we need to head into the office," he pointed out, staring at her. "Just stay here, Peggy."

She raised her brows at him, her handbag in her hand. "And walk back into the office with you, wearing the same clothes as yesterday? That's going a little too far, don't you think?"

"We'll swing by your place on our way in," he countered, then gave her a half smile. "I'll even take the couch," he offered.

Peggy glanced at the door, hesitating. She didn't particularly want to pay for a cab half way across the city, especially not at this time of night when she had to be up in a few hours anyway. She'd told Angie the day before that she would be back late, if she came back at all, and not to wait up for her so she wouldn't worry. It was more the fact that this was Jack Thompson's apartment that had her hesitating.

Her gaze returned to him, sitting at the tiny table that was covered in files watching her, his sleeves rolled up and his top button undone. She sighed, caving to convenience. "Fine, but let's call it a night."

He tapped his fingers briefly on the table and stood up, pushing his chair back. "Bedroom's this way," he said simply, jerking his head over towards the other two doors in the small apartment. He pushed one open to reveal a modestly sized room with a double bed. He glanced inside as Peggy came up to inspect it and leant back against the door frame. "... Need anything?" he asked almost awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

Looking at the reasonably tidy room, the bed made with military precision (no doubt a lingering habit from his time in the Navy) she shook her head. "No, I'll be fine," she told him honestly.

"Aces," he said simply, pausing to grab one of the pillows and the obviously handmade quilt that was folded at the bottom of the bed. "See you in the morning," he said - he briefly hesitated as if he wanted to say more, but then headed back into the main living area without another word.

Peggy closed the door behind him and glanced around his room, more than a little intrigued by this glimpse into his life. She got the impression that he didn't spend much time in there at all. His wardrobe door was partially open, revealing several suits and shirts hung up. There was an empty bottle of bourbon in the waste paper basket, as well as a half full coffee mug and plate on his bedside table, as if he had eaten breakfast on the go that morning. She also noticed two unframed photos that were propped up on his chest of drawers and picked them up. The first one was obviously taken during the war, a group of scruffy, but uniformed men standing around a tank and laughing; she was able to make out Jack among them, grinning beneath his helmet with mud streaked over his face. The other one was a family photo from what must have been over ten years ago, the kind where people sat and posed for the camera. There was an elderly couple, a slightly younger couple and Jack, meaning that he was most likely an only child. He looked like his father, she realised, staring at the picture of his family.

Realising that she was snooping, she went to put it back on the drawers, but one of the photos slipped down the crack beneath the wood and the wall.

Muttering an expletive under her breath, she got down on her knees and slowly pushed the drawers forward, reaching blindly into the space behind to retrieve the picture – instead she felt cold, sharp metal and pulled her hand back, already knowing precisely what she had found without looking. It was his Navy Cross medal, covered in dust with the blue ribbon faded, so it must have been sitting back there for quite some time. She sighed as she looked down at it, her thumb absently cleaning away some of the dust from the bronze – she knew how he felt about this medal, he'd told her as much on that journey back from Russia.

When she thought about it, Russia was the first time she had started to see Jack as a person, not just an SSR Agent and colleague.

She pursed her lips and carefully placed the medal back into the dusty space between the back of the drawers and the wall, knowing that he had left it there for a reason. She retrieved the picture and put it back in its place, making sure everything was as she had found it before turning to get into bed.

She didn't have anything to change into and borrowing a pair of his pyjamas seemed a little too personal. Meanwhile sleeping in just her slip was rather inappropriate – not that she didn't trust Jack not to barge in, but she wouldn't feel comfortable in just her underwear. Kicking off her heels, she got into his bed fully dressed, drawing the duvet up around her. It was surprisingly comfortable – the mattress was hard and the sheets were plain, faded cotton that felt pleasantly familiar - not like the opulent silks and overly soft mattresses in Howard's penthouse where she felt she was going to sink right through.

Despite how comfortable she was and the exhaustion that she felt, both mentally and physically, she knew that sleep would be a long time in coming. With a deep sigh, she curled up into one of his pillows and realised belatedly that she could still smell a slight hint of Jack's aftershave.

* * *

**Next up – Peggy tracks the car and Howard makes an appearance ... as does the shirtless Jack I hinted at in the last chapter :p**

**Big thank you to ~dontbesillywefall and ~cravinghoneydukes for beta-ing for me and thank you to all of you for your lovely reviews - go on, press that lil' button and leave another :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Peggy was woken by a loud, obnoxious and utterly unfamiliar ringing right next to her head – instantly awake and alert, she sat bolt upright and sighed as she realised it was only Jack's alarm clock on the bedside table. She reached over to turn it off, swinging her legs out of bed as she did so. It was six o'clock in the morning. She'd had less than two hours sleep but that wasn't exactly unusual for her; her job as an SSR Agent and lingering memories from the war had left her with a rather erratic sleeping pattern.

Being summertime, the sun had already risen outside and the room was filled with grey light that filtered through the curtains. She had slept fully dressed so she quickly made the bed and smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt before checking her reflection in the mirror, half-heartedly twisting her limp curls around her finger to try and put some life back into them. Giving up her hair as a bad job, she picked up her heels from the floor and slipped barefoot out of Jack's bedroom.

She found Jack sprawled out on the couch, which was too short for his tall frame. He was wearing just his work trousers and under-shirt, with his suspenders loose around his waist. His shoes were on the floor and his shirt tossed on top of his jacket on the armrest. He'd kicked the quilt off in the night and was sleeping with one arm thrown up beside his head, snoring faintly with his head tilted to one side, his mouth partially open and a hint of stubble on his jaw.

Peggy hid a smile at the sight of him. It was odd seeing him like this – there were no lines of stress or tension on his brow and his mouth wasn't twisted into a smirk for once. This was easily the most relaxed she had ever seen him. He looked younger and, she hated to admit it, even to herself, rather handsome.

She cautiously sat on the edge of the couch and lightly shook his shoulder to wake him. "Thompson," she called softly, her hand lingering a moment too long.

He took a deep breath in as he woke and his eyes blinked open to look at her, the blue hazy. His gaze focused on her and then something strange happened – he smiled sleepily, an honest-to-God smile that caused a dimple to appear in one cheek and didn't contain a single hint of cynicism or mockery.

"Hey," he said simply to her, his voice rusty from sleep as he blinked up at her.

"Hey," she quietly replied, her gaze locked on his. "... We should head in, I want to get the tracker activated as soon as possible. It only has a hundred mile radius."

"Yeah," he agreed groggily, digging the heel of his hand briefly into one eye as he sat up, putting their faces just over a foot apart. "Just give me ten minutes to shower and change."

Peggy stood to give him room and he unfolded himself from the couch. Still not completely awake, he ambled towards the bathroom, grasping his under-shirt by the back of the neck and pulling it up and over his head as he went, affording her a view of his bare back. She was able to make out several scars and an obviously homemade tattoo on his left shoulder-blade, the kind that troops would do with ink and a pin during the war; she was able to read the number twenty-five - no doubt his former infantry number - before the bathroom door closed behind him.

She heard the water running and started to tidy up the files, organising the ones pertaining to Zodiac that they would need to take into the office with them, putting the rest back into his hidey-hole beneath the oven. A minute or two later she heard the water being switched off. There was a beat of silence, then the bathroom door opened and Peggy instinctively glanced up once more. Jack had rough-dried his hair and it was a mess, dark with moisture and nothing like his usual neat style. He had a towel slung low around his hips, with his torso bare and his skin damp. He was still wearing his Navy dog-tags and there was a smattering of hair on his chest that darkened into a narrow trail on his stomach before vanishing beneath the towel.

There was a slightly awkward pause as their gazes locked for a long moment, then Peggy coolly returned her gaze to the files, hoping that her cheeks weren't red as she heard his bedroom door close.

He emerged a few minutes later, pulling his suspenders up and over his shoulders. He was dressed in fresh clothes with his damp hair neatly combed and his jacket slung over one arm. Peggy picked up her handbag and slipped on her heels. "Shall we?" she asked, all business.

"Yeah," he replied, gesturing towards the door for her to go first and locking up behind them.

They quickly drove to the other side of the city, with Jack evidently remembering where she lived since he didn't ask for directions. He waited below in the car with the engine running while Peggy went up to the penthouse, eyeing the small cafe opposite her building and frowning when he realised that hadn't opened yet due to the earliness of the hour.

Peggy poked her head into Angie's room but, seeing that she was fast asleep, decided not to disturb her. She quickly headed to her own room and changed her clothes. She didn't have time for a shower, wanting to get into the office to activate the tracker as soon as possible, but she did spritz on some perfume, applied some lipstick and twisted her limp curls into a neat knot that was held in place by a clip.

It was less than fifteen minutes before she was joining Jack in the car and they were walking into the office before the clock had even struck quarter to seven, with Thompson holding a paper bag of pastries that they'd bought from an early morning vendor beside the subway station outside. The SSR was utterly deserted this time in the morning, the only light coming in through the windows whilst everything else was in shadow. After conferring quickly, Peggy headed straight to one of the store rooms to find the counterpart to the transponder she'd planted while Jack turned on the lights and the coffee machine.

She set up the equipment in Jack's office and was sitting in his chair behind his desk, frowning at the screen, when a mug of tea landed beside her – really, if this new habit of his to bring her drinks was going to continue then she would have to teach him that the teabag had to be in there longer than ten seconds and it was only supposed to be a dash of milk, not half the cup. Jack leant over her shoulder to see the tracker, one hand gripping the back of his office chair and the other braced on the desk. "Anything?" he asked, close to her ear.

Peggy shook her head, still trying to patch into the right frequency since the device required some fine tuning. Thompson let her work in silence for a few minutes, then the screen flashed to life, lit with green concentric circles and no sign of the signal. "Nothing," he said, sounding frustrated. "Think they went beyond the radius?"

Peggy continued to frown at the tracker and then pointed just to the left of the centre circle, where a dot blinked into life and then vanished. "There, look – the car must be moving, it needs to be stationary to get a proper reading of the signal," she said as the dot flashed once again, having moved slightly from before.

Jack nodded. "Can you tell how far out they are?"

"Only twenty-five miles or so at the moment, so they must have headed back to the city," she told him, still staring at the tracker.

There was a long silence as they both monitored the dot's slow progress on the screen, during which Jack wordlessly offered her the bag of pastries to pick from and they ate their meagre breakfast, sipping on their drinks. They heard the elevator at the far end of the bullpen open and both looked up; one of the scientists got out and headed straight towards the lab, not noticing them in the office. "You know, it isn't exactly surreptitious to have this set up in your office when we have a mole lurking about," Peggy pointed out around a mouthful of flaky Danish.

"This Zodiac thing could be big, we can't just ignore it even with everything that's going on with Leviathan," Thompson countered, though his forehead was creased into a frown, evidently agreeing with her.

There was another pause and Peggy looked up from the screen at him. "It's your lead, Jack," she said simply, letting him make the call since it was his case.

Jack thought for a moment, briefly tapping his fingers on the desk. "We need more intel on Zodiac," he said, glancing over at the small stack of papers pertaining to Zodiac that they had been able to find last night. "And I don't want our mole sabotaging us before we have a chance to crack this thing open."

Reading the implication in his voice, Peggy stood to gather the files. "I can take these and work on them at home to avoid raising suspicions, and I'll phone Mr Jarvis as well to see if Howard has anything in his files."

"Why the hell would he?" Jack asked sceptically, straightening up from where he had been leaning over her shoulder.

"You forget that he was the lead scientist on Project Rebirth and the SSR's campaign against HYDRA," she pointed out mildly, closing the lid on the tracker and picking it up. "I'll keep trying to get a signal on the transponder as well."

Jack nodded, handing her the files to stack on top of the tracking device. "Let me know if you find anything," he ordered.

"What about Agent Geller?" she asked from the doorway of his office, referring to the last suspect Jack had listed as being their potential mole and the fact that they still had to bait him to lure him out.

"I'll handle that," he said, standing behind his desk with one hand in his trouser pocket.

There was another silent pause, then she nodded once at him and turned to head towards the elevator; after having spent so much time together, walking away felt very odd.

* * *

Four scruffy and brutish men were standing well back from a car while a younger, fifth man poured gasoline from a metal container over the hood and around the wheels. The man that they had just beaten to unconsciousness was in the driver seat, locked in and blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. The young man with the gasoline tossed the empty canister into the bed of a truck, where two more full bottles were waiting. "Boss din't say that it were an entire warehouse he wanted us to torch," the younger man pointed out, glancing nervously at the large, seemingly abandoned factory behind them.

Their leader, a grubby and heavyset man, flicked his cigarette towards the car and they watched as it went up in flames. "We're gonna need more gasoline," he said simply.

* * *

The phone on Jack's desk rang a little after eleven o'clock and he picked it up before the second ring. "Thompson," he said instantly into the mouthpiece, still looking down at the file in front of him.

"Jack, I had a hit on the car but it's vanished, they likely found the transponder and destroyed it," Peggy said quickly, all business. "I was able to get coordinates and I'm heading out to the last pinpointed location now, a warehouse out in New Jersey."

Jack pushed the file away, his attention fully captured. "No you damn well aren't, not alone at any rate," he ordered in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Peggy's voice was irate. "Thompson -"

"Carter, we have no idea what we're getting ourselves into here," he interrupted fiercely, refusing to bend on this. "You're not going in half cocked and without backup."

"You said you wanted to keep this under wraps, it won't exactly be a secret if we send in a team," she pointed out, sounding annoyed that he was questioning her judgement.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking quickly. "Give me twenty minutes," he said brusquely. "I just need to dangle the bait in front of Geller and then I'll swing by yours."

He heard Peggy sigh gustily down the phone. "Well, I suppose you are faster than a train," she acquiesced. "Twenty minutes, Thompson, or I'm leaving without you," she added, followed by the sound of her hanging up.

Shoving the file he had been reading to one side Jack quickly dug through a stack of papers to find the surveillance report they had on Becket, Spider Raymond's business partner who had taken over ownership of the La Martinique swing club after his death. File in hand, he grabbed his jacket and donned his hat, which sat low on his forehead, and headed out of the office.

He stopped beside Agent Geller's desk and dropped the report on Becket on top of his other papers, making Betty, who was busy taking his lunch order, visibly jump. "Geller, I want you to gather everything we've got on Hector Becket," he ordered as he pulled on his jacket one arm at a time. "We've got a hit on the francium, we go in tomorrow night."

"You got it Chief," Geller replied, opening the report to start reading.

With the bait for tonight cast, Jack headed out of the SSR, pausing only to grab his combat gear from the locker-room, and it was just over fifteen minutes later that he was pulling up outside of Peggy's undeniably fancy building. He killed the engine and got out of the car, only realising once he was in the lobby that he had no idea which apartment she actually lived in. He quickly checked the mailboxes but found none with her name – then the name on the penthouse caught his eye: Beauman, one of Howard Stark's aliases that they had managed to dig out when they had been investigating him. He clenched his jaw, one hand curled into fists in his pocket and the other tightly gripping the strap of his combat gear – this was the address he had dropped Peggy off at twice now and it was Howard _god-damn_ Stark's.

He took the elevator up to the very top of the building and then rapped his closed fist on the door much harder than was necessary. The door was opened by the familiar figure of Edwin Jarvis, impeccably dressed, as usual.

"Good morning, Mr Thompson," he said smoothly, holding the door open and stepping back to allow him to enter. "Miss Carter is expecting you."

Jack didn't bother replying, he stalked into the damn penthouse (suddenly feeling embarrassed at his tiny, sparse, one bedroom apartment when he saw the opulent and clearly expensive furnishings) with his jaw still clenched tightly. He found Stark lounging on one of the ornate sofas with his arms spread out over the back, dressed far more smartly than the plain shirt and jacket he had been wearing at the SSR and looking utterly at home. The tracker was open on the arm of the sofa beside him, the green concentric circles lit up but no sign of a signal.

Peggy was standing to one side, absorbed in reading a stack of files on a small table. She was already dressed in her combat gear with her hair tied up and out of the way, one hand on her hip and a frown affixed to her face. The red lipstick she had donned earlier and her matching red nails were a jarring juxtaposition to her black fatigues and the rifle that was already slung over her back, a look that was somehow uniquely Peggy.

Stark tilted his chin back to look up at him as he entered the room, an air of laziness about him. "Hi pal, it's Thompkins, right?" he drawled.

"Thompson," Jack corrected stonily.

"My mistake," Stark said, sounding utterly unperturbed. He then glanced at his butler. "Jarvis, bring the car around would you? We'll be off in a minute."

"Right away, sir," Jarvis said accommodatingly, inclining his head briefly before leaving the room.

Stark pushed himself up from the sofa, focused on Peggy. "Think about my offer, Peg, I could really use your help on this one," he said smoothly as he faced her, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets.

Peggy raised a brow, looking up from her file. "The last time I did you a favour I almost ended up on trial for treason," she pointed out crisply.

"It all worked out alright though," Howard said dismissively, making Peggy's frown deepen further.

"Five SSR Agents died in the Leviathan attack, Howard, as well as the forty-seven people in the movie theatre," she reminded him, her tone severe.

"Yeah, and a lot more would have if it wasn't for you, Peggy," Stark told her, standing right in front of her. "Phillips is on board, he'll want us over in England so I'd expect a call from him in the next few days if I were you." He glanced over at Jack, his expression speculative. "Anyway ... I can see you're busy," he drawled slowly, glancing between the two of them. "Tell Angie I said hello."

"No I most certainly will not," Peggy retorted instantly, though she seemed faintly amused at something.

One corner of Stark's mouth quirked up. "I gotta meet her some time, you can't hide her forever." He stepped forward to pull her into a tight, easy hug which she returned warmly and kissed her on the cheek. "Take care, Peg," he added, sounding genuinely affectionate, and then, nodding once at Jack, followed Jarvis from the room without another word.

There was a brief silence and Jack dropped his large combat bag onto the floor with a thud, deliberately disregarding the fine polish finish of the cherry lacquer. "What offer would that be?" he wanted to know, his mouth still set into a heavy scowl.

"A job," she replied vaguely, still staring after Howard.

"Classifying and storing his inventions?" he asked sardonically, unsure as to why he was so riled up about this.

"No, something that utilises my skills far more effectively." She gestured towards the new stack of files on the small, intricately carved table that was probably worth more than his monthly pay-check. "Howard was able to dig out a surprising amount of files, it turns out Zodiac is already on both MI6 and the British division of the SSR's radar." She looked him briefly up and down. "You brought your combat gear?" she asked and he nudged the bag by his feet with his foot in lieu of a reply. "Get changed, we've wasted enough time already," she ordered, pointing to a partially door off the corridor.

Following her orders, he heaved his bag and took it into the room, blinking once as he realised it must be her bedroom. The sheets on the four-poster bed were opulent silks and the view from her window was the entire Manhattan skyline. The outfit she had been wearing last night and that morning was draped over the back of a chair at her vanity table, which housed a collection of bottles and powders. Propped up against the mirror was an unframed photograph of pre-Serum Steve Rogers – he had known that she had it since they had ransacked her room at The Griffith, but somehow seeing it sent a strange jolt through his stomach.

First Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, and now Howard Stark, genius, multi-millionaire, and America's prime bachelor – it threw into sharp relief just how ridiculous and unrequited his feelings for her were.

"So I thought you said that Stark wasn't your guy," he called through the partially open door as he unzipped his combat bag, the smallest hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.

"He isn't," Peggy replied, evidently waiting for him outside in the corridor and, based on the sound he could hear, tapping her foot in impatient irritation.

"Yeah, well the two of you living together kinda says otherwise," Jack retorted cynically, starting on the buttons of his shirt.

"Oh for the love of God, lets just nip this in the bud right now," Peggy said and then surprised him by banging open the door and storming up to him with her hands on her hips, uncaring of the fact that he was getting undressed. "Howard and I are _not_, nor have we ever _been_, in a relationship. He is a friend, one of the very few that I have left in this world, and _yes_, I am currently living in one of his many residences, but that is because _someone_ -" she jabbed a finger hard into the centre of Jack's chest, his fingers frozen on the last button "- terrorised the landlady of my former hotel and I couldn't exactly go back," she told him irately, clearly annoyed. "I'm growing rather tired of repeating myself on this score, so if you ever bring up me and Howard again, I will attempt to get it through your thick head in a way that will be far more violent and less enjoyable for you." She tilted her head to one side, looking at him. "Do we understand one another?"

Jack slowly pulled off his unbuttoned shirt and tossed it onto her bed. "So that's a no then?" he asked mildly, standing in just his under-shirt and work trousers, perfectly willing to accept her account of things if it meant that she and Stark were not actually together.

Peggy rolled her eyes slightly. "Get dressed, Thompson," she told him firmly, leaving the room once more. "I am out of the door in two minutes, whether or not you are joining me."

He bent down to fish his bulletproof vest out of the combat bag, feeling slightly better about the situation; she had said she didn't have many friends in this world – he couldn't help but wonder if she counted him among that number.

* * *

They could see smoke long before they parked up about a quarter of a mile outside the seemingly abandoned warehouse out in the New Jersey countryside. They checked the area with binoculars before approaching, seeing no activity beyond the smoke. The whole site was walled off behind ten feet of brick and a heavy gate; with their guns slung over their backs, Thompson wordlessly gave her a leg-up over the wall and, once she was straddling the top, she reached down to help haul him up and over as well.

They crept around the side of the building, covering each other with their guns at the ready, and quickly found the source of the smoke. It was a burnt out car, still smouldering with the chilling sight of a charred body in the driver's seat. Jack covered her with his gun as she approached, his eyes questing around the empty parking-lot. "Careful," he murmured as she pulled her sleeve down to cover her hand and crouched down in front of the bonnet to reach underneath. With the material protecting her skin from the heat, she pried the transponder she had planted the night before off the undercarriage and inspected it – it had clearly been damaged in the fire, which was why the signal had cut out.

Jack was frowning deeply, his gun lowered but ready. "Think they knew we were coming?" he asked, his gaze still flicking over their surroundings.

"I don't know what to think," Peggy said honestly. She dropped the useless transponder and rose to her feet, hefting her gun once more. "Come on," she said, jerking her head towards the abandoned warehouse.

They headed towards the main building, still covering each other with their guns despite there being no signs of any life or activity. Thompson kicked in one of the doors and they entered the building; other than the light streaming in from the small, high set windows, it was dark inside.

The first room of any interest that they found was an office, but the whole place had been ransacked. Filing cabinets and desk drawers stood open, with just a few scattered pieces of paper littering the floor. Thompson headed towards the filing cabinet, reading the labels affixed to the empty drawers. "Lab personnel, test subjects, beta-trials – and all of it's _gone_," he said disbelievingly. He viciously kicked the empty cabinet and then turned to face her. "How the hell did our mole beat us to this?" he asked, sounding highly frustrated.

"I don't think they did," Peggy said musingly, examining the items on the desk: beside the typewriter was a half-drunk cup of coffee – she knew that a skin would form on the surface if left for more than a few hours and yet there was nothing, meaning that the office had been cleared recently. Besides, only she and Jack knew anything about the case; unless his apartment was bugged, which she doubted, she was willing to believe that this wasn't the work of Leviathan. "The man talking to Levourne was spooked, talking about hitting dead ends. Levourne threatened him, it could be the organisation itself cutting off threads that are no longer profitable."

Jack sighed and nodded, agreeing with her. "Let's keep looking, they might have left something of interest," he suggested and they continued out of the office.

It wasn't long before they found what was clearly a makeshift laboratory and they both instantly sucked in shocked breaths – the equipment had all been pillaged but three corpses had been left behind to rot on hospital-style gurnies. All three were small, skinny men and they each had an unnatural blue tinge to their skin. One had huge, misshapen muscles in one arm and leg, one's veins were standing out vivid blue against his pale cold skin, and the thirds eyes were flooded blood red, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

Even with everything that she had seen in the war, it was a chilling sight.

Wordlessly, they moved to examine the remaining equipment. There were needles, syringes and protective goggles, the kind used while working with vita-rays – Peggy had seen all of this equipment before, back in Brooklyn during the war.

"They're still trying to recreate the serum," Jack said quietly, cautiously examining one of the bodies with his gun lowered, his tone devoid of any humour or sarcasm.

Peggy was shaken. "Doctor Eskine was years ahead of his time, they will never be able to do it but a lot more men will die before they realise that," she said sadly, also looking down at one of the corpses. The man's – _boy's_, really – small stature and thin limbs couldn't help but remind her of Steve, cold and dead in front of her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, focusing on the mission. "Any hope of reproducing the serum was locked into Steve's genetic code."

Jack's head suddenly jerked up sharply, his expression worried. "The blood was missing from the SSR," he said swiftly, a look of horror growing in his eyes. "I thought _you_ took it so I didn't say anything, but if our mole was the one who took the blood then they could be closer to recreating it than we think."

Peggy shook her head, thankful, for once, for Howard's selfishness. "Howard was the one who stole the blood, not Leviathan," she told Jack. "He is under the impression that it went missing in the hanger with Ivchenko."

There was a pause.

"Is it safe?" Jack asked, a strange note in his voice.

She hesitated for a second, still looking down at the body of the young man with her gun lowered in front of her. "I ... disposed of it," she said, her voice catching on the word _disposed_ – it didn't seem like the right word, not even close, but there was no other way she could explain herself to Agent Jack Thompson.

She was acutely aware of him looking at her, a crease between his brows and his mouth set into a serious line. She took a breath, feeling his gaze, and glanced up at him. "I decided that it was time to stop living in the past," she said, feeling the need to explain herself slightly, but not quite understanding why.

There was another silence, then Jack dropped his intense stare. "I met him once, you know," he told her in a voice that was perhaps just a shade off neutral. "Rogers," he clarified, moving to look around the rest of the lab, not looking at her and staring instead at a collection of empty glass vials. He was still holding his gun at the ready, his finger held just off the trigger for safety. "_Hated_ him - most of the men on the base did," he admitted almost wryly, risking a glance at her.

Peggy made a questioning noise, more curious about what he was going to say than investigating the lab herself.

Hearing her curiosity, he shrugged one shoulder. "Before I was transferred to Japan I served in Germany," Thompson explained. "Our whole battalion was trapped behind enemy lines in a blizzard and he rode in on a damned motorbike and saved over a thousand men." Jack half shrugged again and returned his gaze to her, casting her a half-smile that looked somewhat forced. "Not that I wasn't grateful, but it was all every nurse in the camp could talk about for weeks."

Peggy smiled – it was a morbid, gallows kind of humour, the kind that could be found even in a room they were sharing with corpses. "Well, knowing Steve, that would have made him highly uncomfortable," she told him. "He had no idea how to talk to women."

Jack was giving her a curious look once more, no longer looking around the lab. "He managed to sweet talk you," he pointed out, the question evident in his tone.

"I recognised something of a kindred spirit in Steve before his transformation," she admitted, surprised that she was able to share so much with him, that he had been able to put her at ease even in surroundings such as these. "He wanted nothing more than to serve his country, like I did, and yet every door was shut in his face." Her smile was small and somewhat bitter. "Being a woman trying to work her way up the ranks, I knew a little of what that was like."

Jack cast her a small smile as they looked at each other from across the lab, their guns held loosely in front of them – then his head jerked to one side and he sniffed the air. "You smell that?" he asked with a frown, his grip on his gun suddenly shifting into the ready position.

Peggy sniffed the air, a familiar smell hitting her. "Gasoline," she breathed, also hefting her gun.

Their gazes locked and Peggy quickly made a gesture with her hand, knowing that they could be heard if they spoke. They crept from the lab and down a set of stairs, pausing behind a doorway – on the other side they could hear the sound of liquid being splashed onto the floor.

Jack, who had wordlessly taken point, glanced swiftly around the corner and then made a

hand-gesture of his own – five guys, armed.

The goons were in the main work area of the warehouse, which they had passed another door for earlier on in their sweep of the building. Peggy gestured for Jack to go around, that way they could attack from two angles. He nodded and slipped away down the corridor.

It was less than thirty seconds later that she heard him in the main room around the corner from where she stood. "SSR, stop right there!" he said firmly, and she moved into position while they were distracted.

The men had gone for their guns, but she hefted her own weapon, "Ah ah, I wouldn't," she told them from behind them and they froze – they were covered from two sides, with no way for them to get their weapons. There were three full canisters of gasoline scattered beside them, as well as two empty ones that had already been poured on the floor.

There was a pause and then one of the goons, the youngest one, by the looks of it, made a break for it, running for the exit. The other four men took advantage of the distraction he caused by diving for cover and going for their own weapons once again – Peggy instantly shot one of them dead and Jack hit the second and third, but the fourth made cover behind an old boiler, firing at them in turn.

He managed to hit Jack before he was able to get behind the wall, the bullet grazing his side, and he dropped to the ground.

"Thompson!" Peggy shouted as gunfire rang out around them, seeing him drop.

He evidently wasn't badly hurt since he rolled to the side, his gun at the ready – he fired at the remaining guy once again from the floor, hitting his mark and sending him sprawling – but the man had a zippo lighter in his hand, lit, and it clattered to the floor, instantly igniting the gasoline.

Peggy broke cover and sprinted towards Jack, hauling him to his feet. "Run!" she said as the flames caught and spread across the liquid coating the floor.

"What?" he replied, somewhat dazed and still clutching his side from where the bullet had hit him.

"_Run_!" she shouted, pushing him as hard as she could towards the door – there were three more canisters of gasoline that would blow once the flames permeated the metal.

They sprinted through the factory and down a flight of stairs, with Peggy half-supporting, half-dragging Jack as they ran. An explosion rang out above them, sending them staggering into each other as a wave of heat assailed them. Jack's sweaty hand was gripping hers almost tight enough to break her fingers as they ran. A second explosion, scant seconds after the first, rocked the building and beams fell from the ceiling – there was a door in front of them and Peggy ran into it full-tilt, turning her shoulder to take the brunt of it, and bursting through into the sunlight.

They ran several yards from the building and then a third explosion sent them sprawling in the dirt as the last canister blew, landing heavily in the shattered glass that had blown from the windows.

With her ears ringing and smoke stinging her eyes, Peggy looked up at the building above them – then, in her peripheral vision she noticed the fifth man, the young one who had run from the room, sprinting across the parking-lot. Rolling onto her side and aiming her gun, she took him down with a single shot to the back of the leg.

Thompson coughed beside her, his face filthy, streaked with dirt and soot. "The others?" he asked in a rusty voice, panting from their sudden sprint and inhaling the smoke.

"I don't think they made it out," she said weakly, collapsing back onto her back in the dirt once more. Bloody hell, _they_ had barely made it out and those men had been shot, there was no way they were still alive.

Jack tilted his head back in the dirt, looking up at the blue sky above them. "Bet you're … glad you didn't … go in alone now," he said, still panting from the exertion.

Peggy let out a shaky breath, still rattled by the explosion. "Yes, Thompson, how I ever stayed alive before we teamed up I have no idea."

He gave a weak chuckle and then winced, touching his side.

"Jack?" she said, sitting up to look at him properly. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he said stoically, also pushing himself into a sitting position and wincing once again as he dug his hand into the glass surrounding them. "Vest took most of it, don't think it even broke the skin but I'm gonna have one hell of a bruise."

Peggy got to her feet, her ears still ringing faintly. "Come on," she said, reaching down to slip her arm around Jack's shoulders and pull him up.

Once he was on his feet he limped unaided over towards the man she had shot, who lay unconscious and bleeding in the gravel. He nudged him with his foot but got no response. "Probably just muscle-fry, sent to dispose of the evidence," he crouched down, grimacing at the pain in his side, and pulled him into a sitting position, cuffing his hands behind his back. "Come on, let's call this in, see what he knows about their employers," he said, jerking his chin at the boy.

Peggy looked at him. "Thought you wanted to keep this quiet," she said.

"Yeah, well this has gotten too big and that decision has kinda been taken out of my hands," Jack said, glancing at the burning building behind them, where the flames were spreading. "Between me and you, Sousa, and Ramirez we should be able to handle it."

"It's Daniel's day off," she pointed out and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Of course it damn well is," he muttered, and then thought for a moment. "Well, I guess we know Adams and Davis can be trusted, we'll get them in on it."

Peggy pursed her lips, also following his gaze towards the flames. "So you think Agent Geller is the mole then," she said; it was not a question.

"Geller, or someone who has been at the SSR long before we had even heard of Leviathan, which is something I'd rather not think about," Jack said heavily. He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out tonight," he added, referring to their mission at La Martinique swing club that night.

Peggy sighed: she ached all over, there was glass in her hair, soot on her face and, after having seen those corpses that resembled Steve a little too much, a hollow feeling in her stomach. "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing less than going out to a swing joint right about now," she admitted tiredly.

Jack gave her a weak smile as he hauled the cuffed young man to his feet. "Me neither, but then again I'm getting old."

* * *

Two hours later Peggy was sitting on the hood of his car, which had been moved into the main parking-lot of the burning warehouse after they'd picked the lock on the gate. There were two SSR vans beside it, with Agents Davis and Ramirez loading them up with any evidence that had been salvaged from the burnt out car. Their witness, the muscle-fry, was still unconscious, but his bullet-wound courtesy of Peggy's spectacular shot had been patched up and he was ready to be taken back to the SSR for questioning. Fire crews were still working on the warehouse, but Jack wasn't particularly optimistic that much would be salvageable – at least he and Peggy had got a quick look around before the explosions.

"Hey, keep it sealed off," Jack shouted over to Agent Adams over at the gate, where several nosy locals were starting to gather. He turned back to Ramirez. "Everything goes to the basement, the witness to the infirmary with either you, Adams or Davis stationed on him at all times," he told him sternly. "This is need to know only, not a word to any other Agents or the lab-rats. Nothing gets touched until I give the go ahead, understand?"

Ramirez nodded his understanding. "Why the wait?" he wanted to know.

Jack paused, glancing over at Peggy. "We have reason to believe that Leviathan has eyes inside the SSR," he admitted quietly, not wanting to alert Davis or Adams to this fact yet, and certainly not to the fact that they had been prime suspects.

"That why we've been hitting dead ends for the past three weeks?" Ramirez asked, frowning though seemingly unsurprised by this revelation.

Jack nodded once. "Agent Carter and I are on the case, hopefully we'll have cracked it by tomorrow," he said – either they would catch Agent Geller in the act, confirming him as the mole, or they would find nothing, in which case he would send the entire SSR dark, dissolve the whole team bar those he knew for sure he could trust, which was a depressingly small number.

"Yes, Chief," Ramirez said, then turned back to the trucks.

Jack walked over towards where Peggy was perched on the hood of his car. She was still in her combat fatigues with her gun slung by the strap over her back, soot on her face and glass littering her tousled hair, which was coming down from where she had tied it up before their mission.

"We're just about wrapped up here, I'm heading back to the office," he told her as he approached.

She turned to look at him, having been staring up at the burning warehouse with a sad expression. "No you're not," she instantly rebuked, making him raise his brows at her. "You've barely stopped since we started this, Jack. We're working tonight so take the afternoon, go home, see to your injury and then pull the curtains and sleep," she rattled off, giving him a stern look. "That's an order, Chief."

"Yes, _Agent_," he said sarcastically since she was actually giving him orders now. He silently agreed that her idea was probably a good one though – his side hurt like the blazes and he'd had a grand total of around four hours sleep since the morning when Peggy had cleaned his clock in front of half the SSR. He scuffed one foot on the gravel and shifted his grip on his gun, which was dangling down by his side from the strap over his shoulder. "You want a lift back to the city?" he asked her, jerking his chin.

"Sure," she agreed, sliding off his bonnet and walking around to the passenger side.

They drove most of the way in silence, with Jack glancing in the rear-view mirror at the column of smoke he could see from the warehouse. This Zodiac thing had become big, bigger than he had ever thought – Levourne was involved, meaning that they were probably well-funded, and they had been perfectly willing to axe a secret lab just because it was failing in its task, meaning that there were no doubt other bases, other scientists and other young men that were being given an incomplete, imperfect, bastardised version of the serum and dying as a result.

He shot a quick look at Peggy; he knew she had been affected by what she had seen back there, but she had held it together impressively well. Everything Peggy did was impressive – hell, she'd dragged him from those explosions when he was damn near about to freeze up. Everything - the sound, the smell, the gunshots and the pain in his side - had been dangerously close to triggering him, but Peggy's hand in his, bursting through that door and into the sunlight, had helped anchor him in the present.

He pulled up outside Stark's address and killed the engine, but she made no move to leave instantly, instead looking thoughtfully up at the building. "You want me to pick you up tonight?" he asked her, breaking the silence and referring to their mission at La Martinique.

It appeared that he had roused her from whatever train of thought had descended upon her while driving. She glanced at him and shook her head. "No, that's fine. I can make my own way there."

He nodded his understanding. "I'll meet you at Becket's club at eight then," he said, then cast a half-grin in her direction. "Dress pretty for me," he added, since she was still wearing her combat gear and her face was filthy from the explosion – but hell, even then she was a sight.

She seemed to know that his tongue was planted firmly in his cheek with that last statement since she pressed her lips together to hide an amused smile as she reached for the door handle. "Until tonight then, Jack."

* * *

**Next up – Angie is completely unconvinced that these so called 'missions' aren't actually dates.**

**Big thank you for all your lovely reviews, and for ~CravingHoneydukes and ~Dontbesillywefall for beta-ing for me :)**

**Every time you review Jack and Peggy will make out - just sayin', you know, in case you needed an incentive … **


	5. Chapter 5

"So lemme get this straight – first you went to a casino, then you went parking, and now the two of you are going _dancing_?" Angie said skeptically from where she was lounging on Peggy's bed, watching her get ready. She raised a single brow at her. "Are you sure these are missions?"

"Angie ..." Peggy said warningly, busy adding the finishing touches to her hair and make-up.

"Granted, the casino one sounds a little shady, but I've been on worse dates," Angie allowed, seemingly not even listening to Peggy and enjoying herself a little too much.

"Angie, we did not go _parking_, nor will we be dancing tonight," Peggy said irritatedly as she put in her earrings. "We are simply there to observe, nothing more."

"Yeah?" she replied, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin in her elbows to look at her, a sly smile on her face. "Is that why you're dressed up so pretty?"

Peggy glanced down at her dress, which was rich, dark red silk with three large black buttons down the centre of the bodice and a black belt nipping it in at her waist. The skirt fell to her knees and was perfect for dancing, with lots of flowing movement. "It's a fancy club, I need to blend in."

"Right ..." Angie said pointedly, still watching her with a small smile.

"_What_, Angie?" Peggy said exasperatedly several long seconds later, well aware of her friends implying gaze on her.

Angie's face blossomed into a grin, clearly pleased at having coaxed her into talking once again. "Would you be trying to blend in as much if your partner on this mission didn't have such nice shoulders?" she wanted to know, looking like the cat who had gotten into the cream.

Peggy picked up her purse and slipped on her heels. "Goodnight," she said pointedly, though she could not stop a small smile of her own.

"Mission or not, I won't be waitin' up for you," Angie said, rolling onto her side to pick up the Agatha Christie novel that she had originally come in to borrow as Peggy left. She called after her while Peggy was waiting for the elevator. "Hey English, if I don't see you, we're going to the movies tomorrow night with some of the girls," she said, poking her head through the door of the penthouse to speak to her.

"I'll try, but with this mission I can't guarantee anything," she told her, though she genuinely would try her best – she hadn't seen many of the girls from The Griffith in some weeks and she did miss them.

Angie nodded at her. "Be careful," she said seriously and Peggy smiled reassuringly in response.

She took a cab across the city to La Martinique and stared up at the building with a sense of deja-vu; the last time she had been here she had been dressed to the nines to give the appearance of wealth and blonde to boot, so she doubted that any of the security staff would recognise her with her usual dark hair and her red swing-dress as opposed to a ball gown.

"Well, I'd say you pass muster," Jack said as he approached, one hand in his trouser pocket as his gaze flicked boldly down her body. He was freshly showered after the explosion that afternoon and was wearing one of his nicer, darker suits. The dark shadows under his eyes had receded somewhat, indicating that he had taken her advice to rest, and he had finally found the time to shave as well, having been up and out of his apartment in ten minutes that morning.

"A compliment, Agent Thompson?" she said lightly, taking his arm as he offered it and they crossed the road, heading towards the doors. "How's the injury?" she added before he could respond.

"Hurts some," he admitted with a shrug. "Got a bruise bigger than an apple," he added she turned her back to him so that he could take her wrap and hand both it and his coat and hat to the young man in the cloak room, leaving him a tip in the jar. They headed through to the main area of the club and paused on the dais, looking down at the couples and groups drinking, dancing and chatting below them. "Do you want to dance?" he asked, scanning the crowd beneath the haze of cigarette smoke.

Peggy shook her head. "Not really, no," she told him honestly, eyeing the quickly twirling couples. "I have never been much of a fan of swing, I prefer slower dancing."

Thompson nodded. "Might as well get ourselves a drink then."

The two of them headed over to the bar and they both ordered a bourbon, doubles. They then headed over to a narrow area on the edge of the dance-floor where there were some high stools. Peggy sat down, her eyes still darting around the room, but Jack elected to stand, turning his back to the wide shelf that was designed for drinks to be placed on and leaning back against it with his elbows resting on the wood. "Got an ID on our muscle-fry," he told her as they settled in. "James 'Jimmy' Gascone. He was too young to enlist so he's worked some factory jobs, fell in with the wrong crowd."

Peggy silently gave him a pointed look since she had told him to get some rest, not return to the office. Jack shrugged, no doubt reading her disapproval. "I may have swung by the office before meeting you here," he admitted, unrepentant. "He's still in the infirmary – hell of a shot, by the way - but I've got Ramirez stationed on him." He took a sip of his drink, holding it in his mouth for a moment to savour the taste before swallowing. "We'll let him sweat it out for the night. Depending on how we get on here, we'll question him tomorrow."

"And if we find nothing tonight?" Peggy asked, since they were down to their last suspect for the mole.

Still leaning back against the ledge, Jack turned his head to look at her. "This was your case, Carter. What would you do?" he wanted to know.

She briefly pursed her lips as she thought. "Well, I would dismantle our entire branch," she admitted. "Better to start again from scratch with those we can trust than be sabotaged from within, but then I'm not the Chief so it's not my call to make."

Jack turned fully to face her, so that only one arm was resting on the high shelf, his fingers tapping on his glass. "And what if the only one I can trust is you?" he asked quietly.

Peggy frowned. "Are you saying that you don't trust Daniel?"

He shrugged and dropped his gaze "Even though I think its a set up, it would be stupid to ignore the evidence pointing to Sousa if it actually came to going dark," he told her and she reluctantly had to admit that he had a point. "As for everyone else … well, you're never quite sure, are you?"

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," she said, returning her gaze to scan the crowd.

There was silence between them for a long time, during which they both sipped on their drinks and scanned the crowd for any sign of Agent Geller or any other suspicious activity. It was perhaps half an hour after their arrival that the lively swing band took a break, with a single piano player entertaining the crowd with soft, lilting melodies.

Thompson put his almost empty glass down and held out a hand to her. "Come on," he ordered simply. Peggy stared briefly at his outstretched hand, then up into his face, frowning slightly. He shrugged one shoulder, still holding out his hand. "You did say you preferred slower dancing."

Peggy hesitated, then slowly slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her from the stool and onto the dance-floor. They automatically slotted into their respective positions, with one of her hands in his own much larger one, while the other was lightly resting on his strong shoulder – she pressed her lips together as they started to slowly turn to the music, reminded of Angie and thinking of what she would say if she could see them now. Thompson may be an utter arse at times, but she reluctantly had to allow that Angie was right - he did indeed have quite nice shoulders.

As they danced slowly she was acutely aware of his proximity, with his own hand resting perhaps a shade too low on her waist. Even in her heels, he was still slightly taller than her. She could smell his plain ivory soap and his aftershave, along with the hint of bourbon on his breath. Both of them were leading, allowing the other to guide them in one direction or another around the other couples, harmoniously slipping easily between leading and following.

She had _missed_ this, Peggy thought suddenly – aside from grabbing a man at random to act as a cover in Raymond's club she hadn't been dancing since … since … well, she could barely remember. That small pub in Bletchley, perhaps, near the start of the war: she had danced with one of the cryptographers. It had been before she had been transferred to the SSR and placed in charge of overseeing Project Rebirth.

One benefit of dancing (or perhaps why Thompson had suggested it in the first place) was that their lazy circles gave them a view around the entire club and so they were still able to monitor activity.

She was looking over Thompson's shoulder towards the door when she noticed a young woman in a striking black dress handing a fur wrap to the cloakroom. Peggy frowned: there was something familiar about her, but she could not place what it was. She turned to face the club, her piercing gaze slowly sweeping over the room, and Peggy gasped, recognising her – she had been at the SSR, standing beside Daniel's desk the first day she had returned with a pot of coffee in one hand and a small stack of files under one arm.

The movement of the dance meant that Peggy was just turning her back to the woman and Thompson was now turning to face her, meanwhile her gaze was about to sweep over the dance-floor and see them – she had to act quickly and she couldn't just get Jack to dip her, that would do nothing to hide his own face and they were about to be discovered.

Seeing no other option, she put her back to the coffee-girl and, taking Jack's face firmly in her hands to hide it, rocked up on her toes to kiss him soundly.

* * *

Jack hadn't been dancing since the drunken celebrations on VE Day after the war and, quite frankly, this wasn't how he remembered it – granted, that had been some nameless girl, some nurse on the base, not Peggy that he held in his arms with their bodies just shy of being pressed together. He could feel the curve of her waist where it flared out to her hips, and the soft material of her dress beneath his fingers, whereas her hand (a hand capable of knocking him out like a light and hitting a target from two-hundred yards) felt small in his. He was monitoring activity around the club, but occasionally his gaze was drawn downwards to the way her wine-red skirt flowed and moved around her knees with each slow turn.

He had to remind himself that this was just for the mission, that this wasn't actually a date by any means.

He heard Peggy take a faint, gasping breath. Before he could ask her what was wrong her hands were cupping his face and, without any warning whatsoever, she was suddenly pressing her mouth to his in a searing kiss.

His brain just about short-circuited - Peggy Carter was kissing him and he didn't think he had ever been more shocked in his entire life.

His eyes slid closed and he instinctively kissed her back for a long moment, leaning into her – then rational thought caught up with him and he made to pull back, wanting to know if she was sure about this. Peggy's hands were firm on his cheeks, not letting him draw back so much as an inch and keeping her lips pressed urgently to his.

Well ... he was certainly game if she was.

The hand that had been at her waist while they were dancing slid to the small of her back and he lightly applied pressure until she took a step forward, so that her body was flush against his with the silk of her dress beneath his fingers. Meanwhile his other hand, the one that had been holding hers to dance, came up to tangle in her hair, anchoring her to him as he kissed her back for all he was worth – she seemed almost … _surprised _at this, her lips parting on a small gasp. Taking advantage of this, he tiled his head to get a better angle and slanted his mouth over hers as he deepened the kiss, trying to pour all the knotted up tension and longing he felt when it came to her into that simple touch.

It was Peggy's turn to draw away a few seconds later, their breath mingling and their noses just brushing. He resisted the urge to follow her movement, to kiss her again and just keep kissing her – but then she glanced over her shoulder, his hand still in her hair. Her red lipstick was ever-so-slightly smudged on her bottom lip, making her look wanton and, dare he even think it, like he had staked a claim on her. "East stairwell," she breathed shakily, her breath fanning over his mouth and her hands still cupping his face.

Uncomprehending, he glanced up to follow her gaze. There was a woman in a long, black dress ascending the stairs. Her hair was caramel coloured, elegantly curled, and there was something familiar about her – then she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and he was able to catch a glimpse of her profile. He frowned deeply. "Is that … _Betty_?" he said in a stunned voice.

"I think we have found our mole," Peggy said softly, her eyes fixed on the coffee-girl as she knocked on the door of the upstairs office.

Jack's mouth was hanging partially open as the pieces slotted into place – Betty, the recently-hired coffee-girl who handled all of their classified files, who lingered around their desks chatting to them as she bought drinks and took lunch orders, who had been standing right next to Agent Geller when he had dropped the file on Hector Becket on his desk.

The girl – Russian assassin, likely, since she was working for Leviathan – vanished into the office and Peggy's hands slowly dropped from his cheeks. Jack's gaze turned back to her, a frown creasing his brow; he still had one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back, keeping their bodies pressed together. "You were covering my face," he realised belatedly, releasing her and taking a small step backwards: no one would glance twice at a couple kissing on the dance-floor, but had Betty seen them the consequences could have been disastrous.

"I had my back to her, but you are instantly recognisable," Peggy said in a tone that just touched on being defensive, still monitoring the stairs. She glanced back at him, her eyes cool though her cheeks were slightly flushed. "What did you think I was doing?"

Jack resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at her – Goddammit, it was perfectly clear that _he_ hadn't thought it was a ruse and he hadn't exactly pushed her away. Well, it looked like the cat was certainly out of the bag now, but they had bigger things to worry about. He dragged a hand through his neat hair, staring up the stairs once more so that he didn't have to look at Peggy standing there in front of him looking so delightfully kissed. "Do we go after her?"

"No, if she has been trained in the same facility as Dottie then the two of us may not be enough," she said instantly and, remembering the way that kid had torn through them in Russia and the carnage that Dottie Underwood had managed to inflict, he was inclined to agree with her. "We should leave before we catch her attention."

"What about the fence?" he asked as he led Peggy from the dance-floor towards the main entrance, the rest of the couples blissfully unaware of what was going on around them. A part of him was still reeling from the kiss, but he had mostly snapped back into Agent mode, the sight of their mole, who was most likely as highly-trained as Dottie had been, acting like a bucket of cold water over his head.

"She'll break into his safe, but I doubt she will kill for fear of drawing attention to herself," Peggy said as they grabbed their coats from the cloakroom assistant. "It's enough that we now know what we're dealing with."

There was a pause as they left the club, not wanting to be overheard by any passers by. Jack shook his head as they started walking down the block away from the club, out of earshot of those still queuing to get in. "_Betty_, the Goddamn coffee-girl, a member of Leviathan, who would have thought it?"

"Since when does the SSR have a coffee-girl anyway?" Peggy wanted to know as they walked.

Jack grimaced and dragged his hand through his hair again. "I figured I would hire someone to do coffee and filing that actually wanted the job instead of using it to punish Agents," he admitted, shaking his head at his own stupidity. "She could hear everything we said and she handled all of the files, she could remove or add anything." He viciously kicked a fire hydrant as they walked past, furious at himself. "_Stupid_, I never even considered her. Even after everything with Dottie Underwood it didn't cross my mind, not even once."

"Don't blame yourself for this, Jack," she told him instantly. "They are spies, killers, highly trained in blending in and deceiving people. I never considered Dottie either, not until she took me down. We've found her now, that's the main thing."

He glanced at her, unable to believe that she was dismissing his mistake so easily – not only had he allowed a Russian Agent access to the SSR and all of their files, he had actually _paid_ her while doing it. This was his fault, his mistake, and yet she was absolving him from blame. It reminded him of Russia, when she had told him that everyone freezes sometimes, implying that she didn't think any the less of him for it; he didn't think he would ever figure out Peggy Carter. He sighed and gestured ahead of them. "My car's just around the corner, let's get out of here."

* * *

Jack opened the passenger side door of his car and held it open for her, a deep frown still pulling at the corners of his mouth. Peggy couldn't help but notice her shade of lipstick staining his mouth, thinking of the way he had instantly reciprocated when she had kissed him to hide his face back there. She knew that many of the men in the office found her attractive and Jack was known for dropping the occasional 'sweetheart' into conversation, but she hadn't expected … _that_.

He'd been surprised at first, that much had been obvious, but then he had almost lazily pulled her closer, then he had just sunk into her mouth. It had been demanding and confident and it had set her heart pounding and made her stomach clench.

"What the hell is their endgame anyway?" he asked, almost to himself as he got in behind the wheel and started the engine.

Peggy took a deep breath, pulling her focus back to the mission. "If you ask me, it won't be long before we're at war again," she said honestly. "Russia emerged from the war as a dominant power in the world and its ideals are vastly different to our own. I think it is only a matter of time before tensions start to arise."

Jack shot her a sharp look. "So you think Leviathan is government led?"

"A disturbing thought," she said, considering the possibility – the Soviets were well known for having spies even among the Allies in the war. "We don't know enough about them to know for sure."

His hands tightened on the wheel, his gaze fixed determinedly ahead and his jaw clenched. "It won't work," she told him, guessing the direction that his thoughts had taken.

"What won't?" he asked, glancing at her.

"You were thinking that we could make Betty talk," she clarified, watching him as he drove. "It won't work."

"I've made men twice her size sing for me," Jack argued back, his tone grim and stubborn.

"Those men were not separated from their families at a young age and turned into killing machines," she pointed out crisply, knowing full well that questioning Betty would be a dead end. "Any form of pain you can derive, I'd bet that she has experienced worse."

Jack sighed as he shifted gears. "So we have what is quite possibly a highly-trained Russian assassin serving the coffee in the SSR and nothing concrete but the two of us seeing her at a swing club to go on," he summed up.

"She'll have the same scars on her wrists that Dottie had," Peggy said musingly, knowing that it would not be enough to make any kind of conviction stick.

"It's not enough," Jack said, echoing her thoughts. "She didn't commit any crimes tonight so we can't arrest her, she would play dumb and it would never stick."

There was a long pause, with both of them deep in thought as they drove. Possible courses of action whirled around her head, but after losing so many Agents in the initial Leviathan attack she was not sure confrontation was wise – any one of them could be next. "Fire her," Peggy said eventually as Jack turned onto her block.

He shot her an incredulous look. "That's your plan, just _fire_ her?"

She nodded. "Find a genuine reason to fire her and she has no excuse to return to the SSR." Jack frowned as he pulled up in front of her building, evidently considering her proposal. "You think Leviathan won't try again?" he said, killing the engine.

"I've no doubt that they will, but this time we will be ready and vigilant," she told him. It was better to get the mole out of the SSR and not lose any other Agents than chase a lead that would no doubt prove to be elusive and highly lethal. "It buys us time, at least, time to gather more intel on them and find out more on Zodiac without anyone snooping over our shoulders."

Jack was staring at her now that he had stopped driving, his brow creased and his fingers tapping on the wheel. Then he nodded once, agreeing with her suggestion. "And how do you think our highly-trained Russian killer is going to react to being _fired_," he said with a small smile and a hint of sarcasm, still tense as he had been when they'd left the club.

"I'll be right outside your office with my gun at the ready," she told him, then reached for the door handle beside her. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Peg – uh, Carter," he said, seemingly deliberately switching to her last name. His gaze shifted slightly, so that he was giving her a strange, intense look. "You, uh - might wanna fix your lipstick before you go up," he said almost awkwardly, his gaze darting between her eyes and her mouth.

Peggy blinked once at his suggestion and then slowly pulled her compact out of her purse. She opened it to inspect her reflection in the small mirror, noticing that her vivid red lipstick was ever-so-slightly blurred around her bottom lip, indisputable evidence that she had been thoroughly kissed. Aware of Jack's eyes on her, she slowly drew her middle finger below her lip to correct the smudge and clicked the compact closed before glancing at him. Their eyes locked and she watched his Adams-apple bob as he swallowed hard. She reached for the door-handle once again as the tension seemed to grow between them. "Night, Jack," she said and quickly got out of the car.

She purposefully didn't look back at him as she entered the building, though she was aware of the fact that he hadn't instantly driven off, no doubt watching her leave. Her fingers tapped staccato on her purse as she rode up in the elevator to the penthouse and she briefly touched her lips, remembering the way he had tilted his head to confidently claim her mouth, tasting of bourbon and utterly unaware that the whole thing was a ruse. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling of the elevator; she hadn't been kissed, _properly_ kissed, in so long – Dottie and Spider Raymond didn't count and Steve … _Steve_. The one and only time she had kissed Steve had been so sudden and quick, so _chaste_.

She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts as she let herself into the penthouse apartment, knowing full well that no good would come of Angie sniffing out that anything was amiss. She found her room-mate lying on one of Howard's ornate sofas with her legs up over the armrest and crossed at the ankle, reading the Agatha Christie novel she had borrowed from Peggy. Hearing her arrive, Angie glanced at the expensive grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. "It's nine fifteen, English, what the hell are you doing back so early?" she wanted to know.

"The mission was a success," she replied simply, putting her purse down on one of the small tables.

"Yeah?" she replied, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Is that why it looks like someone has had their fingers in your hair?"

_Bugger_, Peggy thought.

* * *

It was nearly lunchtime and Daniel was just returning to his desk, having gone to pick up some files from the storeroom, when he noticed something strange going on in Thompson's office. The door was closed, which was unusual unless something big was going on. Betty, their coffee-girl, was standing in front of the Chief's desk with her head in her hands, clearly sobbing, while Jack was leaning on the front of the desk with his arms folded over his chest, looking highly uncomfortable.

He limped over faster. "What's going on?" he asked Peggy, who was watching the proceedings from her station.

She glanced at him and then returned her gaze to Betty and Jack. "It looks like we will shortly be back to making our own coffee," she said speculatively, not sounding particularly worried. Meanwhile Jack tentatively reached out a hand to awkwardly pat the sobbing girl on the shoulder, looking like the action physically pained him.

A few seconds later the office door opened and Betty barrelled past them, pulling out a handkerchief from the sleeve of her crocheted sweater and dabbing at her eyes as she hurried towards the elevator. Jack followed her out and leant against his office door, watching her go with his hands in his pockets.

"What the hell was that?" Daniel demanded, unable to believe what he had just seen.

"She's fired," Thompson said with a nonchalant shrug, his eyes still narrowed as he looked at Betty pressing the button for the elevator.

"_Fired_?" he repeated incredulously. "What for? _Jesus_, Jack, she's a good girl -"

To his complete surprise, Jack lowered his chin and actually laughed. "I wouldn't worry about her, kid," he said lightly, an amused smile spreading over his face. He then gestured at Peggy, jerking his chin back towards his office. "Carter, a word," he said, and Peggy rose silently to her feet and followed him into the office.

Daniel glanced down the bullpen once more, where Betty was still pushing the elevator button and fighting back tears. Deciding to go and check that she was alright, he hefted his crutch once more and limped towards the elevator, reaching her just as the elevator doors opened. "Betty," he said, catching her attention as she was about to step inside. "I'm sorry about him, are you okay?" he asked, concerned at the tears streaking her cheeks.

She sniffed and tried to wipe away the tears, giving him a watery smile. "Thank you Agent Sousa … Daniel," she amended softly, looking up at him. "You've always been so nice to me."

"What happened?" he wanted to know.

"H-he said – budget cuts -" she suddenly launched herself at his chest and started to cry once more, meanwhile the empty elevator doors closed behind them. "Oh Daniel, I don't know what I'm going to do," she sobbed into the front of his waistcoat.

"Hey, it'll be alright," he said awkwardly, not sure of the best way to comfort a crying woman. After a long moment, Betty released him and managed to cast another sad, watery smile up at him – she really was quite pretty, even while she was crying. He had been waiting around for Peggy to notice him as anything other than an Agent and friend, but it didn't seem likely that she was going to any time soon. He took a breath. "Listen, I was wondering, if you're not busy, maybe you'd like to -"

"Daniel," Peggy's voice interrupted from behind them. She was standing in the archway that lead to the bullpen, staring at the two of them intently. "Did you still want to go and get that drink?"

He blinked in surprise and then answered her without thinking – this was _Peggy_, after all, who he had held a torch for since the very first day she had walked into the SSR. "Uh, yes, I suppose -"

"Excellent," Peggy said crisply, walking closer to the two of them. She smiled at Betty. "I was so sorry to hear about what happened, it was nice to have another woman around. Do you need any help gathering your things?" she asked, her tone sounding almost pointed.

"No, thank you," she replied, sniffing once more and glancing at Daniel.

Peggy pushed the elevator button and the doors instantly slid open. "Best wishes then, Betty," she said, smiling as the girl timidly walked into the elevator. She waited until the doors closed on her and the lift had started its decent before surprising Daniel by lightly hitting him upside the back of his head. "You are an idiot," she chided, shaking her head at him.

"Ow - what?" Daniel replied, unable to believe she had just hit him and not for the life of him understanding why.

"What's going on?" Thompson asked, joining the two of them out beside the elevator and glancing between them.

Peggy shot a mildly exasperated look in his direction. "Daniel was just inviting our Russian assassin out for a consolatory drink," she said, making Jack chuckle once more as he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets.

Daniel blinked, pausing in rubbing the back of his head even though Peggy had not hit him hard by any means. "Russian assassin?" he repeated, disbelieving his own ears.

Thompson nodded. "Betty was working for Leviathan," he said simply, making Daniel's mouth drop vaguely open. "She's the reason for all our misinformation and dead ends these past weeks."

"... So you just _fired_ her?" he asked, looking between the two of them and trying to make sense of what was happening here.

"Peggy's idea," Jack said, jerking his chin at Peggy beside him and then starting to walk back up the bullpen. "It's a non-suspicious way to get her out of the SSR. She was probably laying it on thick with you to try and keep her fingers in our pie."

"Yes, because there is no other reason that a woman might want to go for a drink with me," Daniel retorted as he limped after him, irked at his tone and implication.

Jack cast him a mild look as they reached his and Peggy's stations. "Russian assassin, Sousa, don't get a bee in your bonnet about it," he said dryly. "She was using you - hell she was even framing it all up neatly to point to you." There was a brief pause as he ducked into his office and emerged with a file, which he handed to Daniel. "Here, take a look."

There was another pause as he skim read the document – sure enough, several of their sabotaged and failed cases the past few weeks were all set up to look like he was behind them. "Well I'll be," he said simply, still wrapping his head around what was going on. He looked up at Peggy, who was standing behind her station once more, and Jack, who was leaning against her desk like he belonged there. "So that's why you were back, to flush her out?" he guessed, glancing between the two of them. "You two have been working together this whole time?"

"Just for the past three days," Peggy said, sorting through a stack of files on her desk.

"How did that go?" Daniel asked without thinking, since Thompson and Peggy's working relationship in the past had occasionally been strained, to say the least.

The two of them shared a long look over Peggy's desk and he suddenly wished that he hadn't asked.

After several beats of silence, Peggy dropped her gaze and Jack took a deep breath, casting a wry grin in Daniel's direction. "Well, she did nearly shoot me and threaten to nail my balls to a wall, so I would say it all went rather well," he said sardonically, though it was almost as if he was trying too hard to be nonchalant.

"Don't forget breaking your fingers," Peggy added in an equally odd tone, before picking up one of the files and handing it to him without looking up.

"And threaten to brake my fingers, let's not forget that," Jack allowed, glancing at the contents of the file she had given him before passing it over to Daniel. "But we did discover the mole, as well as a HYDRA splinter group called Zodiac," he said, nodding down at the file in Daniel's hands. He opened it to have a cursory look, surprised at what they had achieved in just three days. "Investigative work starts on that straight after lunch - speaking of which, where the hell is my club-sandwich?" he added, looking around the office.

"You just fired the lunch-lady," Daniel pointed out, not looking up from the file he was skimming through – it appeared that this Zodiac was a team of scientists trying to recreate the Super Soldier Serum.

"Well, we found the mole and that warrants a celebration, wouldn't you say? There's a pub around the corner that does a good lunch menu," Peggy said, having gathered her files into a neat stack. She picked up her jacket and gestured impatiently for Thompson to get off her desk; he did so and quickly grabbed his hat and jacket from his office. "Come on, you two, let's go get that drink," she added and he belatedly realised that she hadn't been asking him out back beside the elevator, not in that way anyway, she had just been trying to watch his back with the assassin.

"We don't normally clock out for lunch," he said, disappointed, though unsurprised that nothing had changed and she didn't seem to return his regard.

"Chief says it's okay," Jack said amusedly with a small, sideways smile. "You coming Sousa?"

Daniel looked at the two of them for a moment, standing side by side in the walkway of the bullpen, Jack with his coat over his arm and his hat low on his head, whereas Peggy was slowly pulling on her light jacket. "Nah, I'll uh, take a raincheck," he decided. He had thought after the Leviathan attack that Jack still didn't respect Peggy as an Agent since he had been perfectly willing to take the credit, but now he had trusted her with an undercover job at the SSR itself – apparently he had been wrong.

Peggy gave him a small frown, whereas Thompson shrugged and started to walk out. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" she said, sounding slightly concerned.

"I'm sure," he said with a small smile of his own, noting the way that Jack had paused at the arches near the elevator to see if Peggy was following and, seeing that she was still talking, stopped to wait for her. He held up the file that Jack had handed him by way of explanation. "Looks like I need to get up to speed on this Zodiac thing, you two go ahead."

She nodded slowly. "Alright, we'll see you after lunch then," she said, and then went to join Jack as the two of them headed out of the SSR.

* * *

Peggy was actually laughing as they took their seats in the pub, sharing a plate of fries between them as a starter while they waited for their food. "I still can't believe that you gave Betty severance pay," she said, shaking her head at him.

"I was in fear of my life, what else was I supposed to do?" Jack argued back, though a smile of his own was tugging at his mouth. A crying woman was bad enough, but a Russian assassin who could quite probably snap his neck _pretending_ to cry was another thing altogether. "Besides, I had to do something with those poker winnings," he added as he sat down, referring to their first mission in Dixon's nightclub.

She shook her head at him again, still smiling. "You're unbelievable," she said, reaching for the fries.

"Hey Carter?" he said, catching her attention. Things had been slightly tense between them since last night: Jack was convinced that his feelings for her were well and truly out of the bag but this, being able to talk and even laugh, made him think they would be alright – and hell, she hadn't seemed _disgusted_ by kissing him, maybe he still had a bit of hope. "Thanks. For everything," he said simply, reaching for the fries as well. "It's good to have you back," he said honestly.

Peggy raised a single brow at him. "I've completed the mission you gave me," she said pointedly, though her voice lacked conviction.

He smiled knowingly at her, confident that she wasn't going anywhere. "Peggy," he chided, meeting her eyes. "You wanna work for Stark, classifying his weapons or whatever garbage he wants you doing? Or do you want to help me catch Zodiac and Leviathan?"

There was a pause, during which Peggy looked at him speculatively, as if she was trying to decide something. Then she took a breath to speak. "The job Howard offered me was not classifying his inventions," she said simply, keeping her voice lowered. "He wants to start a global intelligence organisation. He's been corroborating with Colonel Chester Phillips on the subject." She shrugged slightly. "It's all just talk at the moment but the idea is sound."

"A global intelligence organisation," Jack repeated, surprised. He leant back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. It made sense, he supposed: the Strategic Scientific Reserve was exactly that, _science_ – they were originally the team behind the science of the war, the counterpart of HYDRA. But now the war was over and science, military defence, and espionage had all sort of been blurred together over recent months. She had said the other night, on their stake out, that she thought the SSR's glory days had passed, and now it seemed as if they were limping on without much purpose or direction.

And hell, he had major doubts about Stark's competence but couldn't think of anyone better than Peggy to set up such a thing. After the way they had all treated her in the past he wouldn't begrudge her jumping the good ship SSR for greener pastures if it meant that she actually received the respect she deserved. He dropped his gaze and dipped one of the fries in the sauce, taking care to keep his voice neutral. "Well, that'd be a feather for the cap - are you gonna accept?"

"I'm expecting a call any day," Peggy said around a rather large mouthful of her own. "But I haven't been approached officially yet so I'll stay on the SSR books for now," she added, smiling at him.

"Good, 'cos after lunch I want you to run the plates on the burnt-out car and then we're questioning Gascone about Zodiac," he said, hiding his relief and returning to the business at hand. "It's time we start cracking heads on this case."

Peggy raised a brow at him. "Literally?" she asked with mild disapproval, evidently referring to his own unique tactics when it came to questioning suspects.

"Only way I do it," he replied with a shrug, popping another fry into his mouth. He was unrepentant of his methods if it got the job done. It was a tried and tested interrogation method that worked wonders for getting quick answers out of people, he wasn't going to sit and play word games when he could just twist someone's arm and have them singing like a canary. "And …"

"And what, Jack?" she asked when he trailed off, unsure of what she would make of his next suggestion – it was risky and could well be a completely dead end, but he still thought it was worth a shot.

He met her eyes. "I'm thinking we should question Zola and find out what he knows about Zodiac."

* * *

**Next up – Peggy gets a call from Colonel Phillips.**

**Well done to #ramblin' rambler, who guessed that Betty was the mole!**

**Big thanks to #cravinghoneydukes and #dontbesillywefall for beta-ing for me and a MASSIVE thank you to all you guys for your lovely review – keep 'em coming! **


	6. Chapter 6

Jack entered the interrogation room where the muscle-fry, Jimmy Gascone, had been waiting for well over an hour and slowly closed the door behind him. They'd left him to sweat it out while he was at lunch with Peggy and now the lad was visibly discomposed, his eyes glancing around the room, lingering on the two-way mirror.

"You know, we used to do this pantomime with a carrot and a stick," Jack said in a friendly, conversational tone as he pulled out the chair opposite Gascone and sat down. "You get what that means, right?" he checked, glancing at the lad.

Jimmy cautiously shook his head, still glancing around the room.

"See, there's two ways to get a horse to pull a cart, either you lure him with a carrot or you hit him with a stick," Jack obligingly explained in a drawling voice, dropping a file onto the empty table. He pulled a faux-sympathetic face. "Problem is the last guy we were questioning bit clean _through_ the stick while he and I were talking, which means we'll have to do without the props." He let the implication of his words hang in the air between them for several long seconds, then slowly put his feet up on the table between them, crossing them at the ankles. "So, here's your carrot - tell me about your employer and you get five months for arson, cut down to three if you behave yourself."

Jimmy looked down, but remained silent.

Jack briefly chewed the inside of his cheek and shrugged. "You see, pal, you're not the one we're after – but that doesn't mean that I won't be happy to persecute your skinny ass for arson, destruction of property, and, since you were trying to destroy evidence, perverting the course of justice," he listed, then tilted his head pointedly towards him, pressing his lips together. "Not to mention the murder of the man in the car and the three men that we found in that warehouse," he added meaningfully, since the punishment for multiple murders was often execution. "With the kinds of charges I could throw your way, you'll be looking at a short drop and a sudden stop."

"So," Jack continued, holding out one hand as if to offer something. "_Carrot_ … _stick_," he summarised, extending the other hand as well as he finished so that he was offering both choices. Gascone made no indication that he was going to choose, keeping his head lowered to avoid eye contact. Jack left the deal hanging in the air for several long seconds before speaking again. "Then there's the fact that I will be getting your employers name outta you one way or another," he said bluntly, knowing that they needed all the intel on Zodiac that they could get.

Gascone shook his head ever-so-slightly, still avoiding his gaze. Left with little choice, Jack looked briefly over his shoulder to the mirror, where he knew Peggy was sitting in the observation room. He then took his feet down from the table and started to unbutton his cuff to roll up his shirt sleeves as he stood up. "Well, the easy way is no fun anyway."

* * *

Peggy was watching through the glass in the observation room; her lips were pursed into a frown of disapproval at the violence and she was busy noting down anything of interest that the young man said. Jack had shed his jacket before going in to interrogate Gascone and had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows before he started. She could not deny that Jack's methods yielded results, but nor could she bring herself to approve, especially when the boy did finally break – it turned out that Zodiac had threatened that if any of them ever talked they would make an example out of them, going after their families and friends.

Jack had visibly hesitated at that, glancing at the mirror before continuing with the full press.

Before losing consciousness Gascone revealed that he had never personally spoken to their employer, but his friend, who had died in the blast at the warehouse, knew him only as Pisces.

Leaving the young man prone and bleeding in his seat, Thompson came through to the observation room. He was faintly out of breath and there were deep lines around his mouth – despite his flippant words earlier, she knew that he found no pleasure in his methods. He leant against the wall and looked through the glass to where Gascone was slumped and motionless. "You were in here the whole time?" he asked Peggy, not looking at her.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Jack," she told him, no stranger to his tactics when it came to interrogating suspects.

"I can tell you disapprove though," he said, glancing away from the window and turning his frowning gaze to her instead.

Peggy slowly put her pen down on the notes she had been taking, pursing her lips slightly. When she replied she took care to keep her voice neutral and devoid of accusation. "In England we tend to share a nice, civilised cup of tea whilst interrogating suspects,"she said mildly.

"Yeah, well England sounds like a magical place, I'll have to go sometime," Jack retorted cynically, flexing his no doubt sore, bruised knuckles and looking down at his hand – the same one that he had sunk into her hair to kiss her the other night, she couldn't help but remember. "I tend to go for the quickest way to get straight answers."

"That wasn't exactly productive though," she pointed out – Gascone had known little, he was evidently a very small fish in this much bigger sea and he hadn't revealed much that they didn't already know.

"We already knew that Zodiac were using codenames," Jack retorted, then frowned deeply. He pushed himself off the wall and came to sit on the desk she was using instead, looking through the mirror once more. "_Pisces_," he said distastefully, as if he was rolling the name around his tongue. "Think it could be Levourne?"

"It is possible, but I doubt it," Peggy admitted, having been considering the possibility. "He is a well-known socialite; his true identity would leak out even among his hired goons, especially in New York."

Jack nodded his agreement and flexed his hand once more. "Levourne is a man that needs questioning though."

"We don't have any evidence against him," she reminded him, having been thinking of this herself while he was questioning the lad. "What are we supposed to charge him with, speaking with a man the night before he died?" She shook her head. "He would have an army of lawyers down here and we wouldn't even get close to Zodiac."

Jack grimaced, evidently seeing her point. "I'll double his surveillance then, we'll catch him doing something." He jerked his head down at the file that she had placed to one side. "You get anything on the car?"

"I ran the plates," she said, reaching to pick up the file and hand it to him. "It's registered to one Matthew Shorley, originally from England. Immigration office shows him arriving in the country just over three weeks ago."

"Just after the Leviathan attack then," he surmised, looking through what little she had found.

Peggy nodded. "No wife, no family in the States," she rattled off as he handed it back to her, their fingers just brushing. "I've sent Daniel out to scope out his flat but it looks like a dead end – literally," she added, snapping the file closed on the picture of Shorely's body in the burnt out car. She returned her gaze to the glass, where Gascone seemed to be stirring slightly. "Are you going to charge him?" she asked.

"I was thinking the five months for arson," Thompson admitted, surprising her by going for the lesser charges he had threatened. "He did cooperate eventually and he was concerned for his family."

Peggy nodded her approval and Jack pushed himself off the desk she had been using, flexing his aching hand once more. "Call a briefing in ten," he ordered her simply. "It's time we bought everyone up to speed on this."

* * *

An hour and a half later the entire SSR team was still in the boardroom, with Jack leading the meeting at the front. The briefing had immediately got off to a bad start when Agent Davis had complained that he had fired Betty and now they had to make their own coffee – as punishment, Davis was instantly assigned coffee-duty for the rest of the week. Jack took great satisfaction in announcing to them all that Betty had been a Leviathan mole just as Davis handed him his coffee for the meeting, as well as pointedly commending Peggy in front of the entire team for her efforts in uncovering her when Davis mucked up her tea and grumbled about remaking it for her.

As it was, he decided against telling him that he, Adams and Geller had all been on their suspect list, thinking it was best to put that behind them. The team was bought up to speed on everything they had discovered about Zodiac and briefed on their increased surveillance of Gregory Levourne. Everything they had managed to dig up from their previous surveillance and their current case had been pinned to a large board, which Jack was standing in front of with his hands in his pockets.

"Level three surveillance - if this guy so much as sneezes, I want to know about it," he told them as he bought the meeting to a close. "Ramirez, Sousa, Adams, you guys are on -"

The phone in the briefing room rang, interrupting them.

Sousa, who was closest, leant over to answer it. "Hello?" he said into the mouthpiece. There was a pause and his eyebrows slowly rose on his head. "Yeah ... yeah, she's right here," he said. He held the phone out to Peggy. "Colonel Phillips is on the line for you," he told her simply, sounding mildly intimidated since Phillips was the Director of the SSR.

Jack and Peggy shared a look as Daniel handed her the phone, both of them knowing full well what this call was about.

"We're done here," Jack told the rest of the Agents, gesturing towards the door. "Come on, let's give her the room."

They all filed out, leaving Peggy to have her conversation in privacy. Jack headed straight to his office, but could still see clearly into the boardroom since his office was situated opposite. Peggy spent several minutes both speaking into the phone and listening for long periods of time, nodding as she did so and standing with her hip braced against the conference table.

It was just over ten minutes later that she hung up the phone and Jack instantly dropped his gaze to the reports in front of him, not wanting to be caught watching her if she looked his way. Sure enough, several seconds later a knock came on his door and he looked up once more. Peggy entered his office without being invited, closing the door softly behind her. Jack instantly stood and came around to the front of his desk to speak to her, not liking being in the Chief's chair – he didn't care with any of the other Agents, but with Peggy it felt different.

He didn't consider himself to be better than her, not anymore.

"I'm going to have to take a leave of absence," she told him simply, lingering at the door with her hand around the handle.

"Phillips wants you in England," he guessed, remembering what Stark had said to her when he was leaving her – well, _his_, technically – penthouse apartment the other day. He sat on the front of his desk and folded his arms over his chest as he spoke to her.

She nodded. "As soon as is convenient."

Jack grimaced at her, keeping his chin lowered. "Well it isn't exactly _convenient_ for me to have my best Agent high-tailing it across the pond," he said bluntly. She blinked those dark, inscrutable eyes of hers at him and he realised what he had said – well, it was true enough, he supposed. She was as good, if not better, than any of those clowns out there. He took a breath and added, "Stay until we've gained some headway on Zodiac, that's an order."

There was a pause, then she nodded once at him. "Yes sir," she said simply, as she turned to leave.

"Peggy," he said without thinking, catching her attention once more. She looked at him expectantly and he realised that he had no idea what he wanted to say. Dammit, he was just going to bite the bullet. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked her, since it was the first night in several days that they didn't have a mission to get to and, after that _Goddamn_ kiss that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about and their reasonably pleasant lunch, he wanted to test the waters with her.

She seemed slightly surprised by his question. "I'm going to the movies with Angie and some of the girls from my old hotel," she said, a small smile gracing her lips and her hand still waiting on the door-handle.

"Right," he replied, disappointed, but having no desire to press the issue. He cast a smile at her, though even he could tell that it lacked conviction. "Have fun," he told her and she gave him a slightly bemused smile in return before heading back out to her station, closing his office door behind her.

* * *

"So Peg, are there any guys in your life at the moment?" Sarah asked her slyly, linking their arms as they walked out of the movie theatre.

Peggy laughed, about to dismiss her comment since all the girls knew she was married to her work, but Angie was quick to reply for her, a smile spreading over her face. "Well, she did go _dancing_ last night with that cop who arrested her a couple-a weeks ago," she said smugly, biting back a wide grin.

"Angie!" Peggy chided, but didn't have a chance to make her displeasure known further before Angie spoke over her again.

"What?" she said innocently, all wide eyes. "It's true!"

Sarah and Carol were both positively gleeful – Peggy's arrest and the men that had searched the building had gone down in The Griffith's history as being the most exciting thing to happen since Harry Houdini's performance. Luckily none of the girls seemed to hold it against her; Angie had fed them all a story that the phone company Peggy allegedly worked for had been defrauded and it had been incorrectly traced back to Peggy's station, but after what she had done to the walls there would be no talking Miriam Fry around. Peggy was persona-non-grata in the eyes of Mrs Fry and had become a cautionary tale that was told to new applicants.

Carol took her other arm so that she was sandwiched between the two girls, unable to escape their interrogation. "Tall, blond and handsome, or the dark haired cutie with the soulful eyes and the crutch?" she wanted to know, brimming with excitement, evidently referring to Jack and Daniel.

They stared at her expectantly and Peggy relented with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, fighting a smile of her own at their antics. "The blond," she admitted, finding the whole situation slightly ludicrous.

"Did you have a good time?" Sarah asked, raising her eyebrows in a highly pointed fashion – Sarah had been known around The Griffith for going on numerous dates with many different men.

"From her dishevelled appearance when she came in, I'd say it went _p-r-e-tty_ well," Angie answered for her again, drawing out her words and grinning hugely as Peggy shot her a scandalised look. The girls hooted, demanding details; despite her flushed cheeks, Peggy could not stop a highly amused laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation bubbling out of her.

She was thinking about her night out with the girls when she rode the elevator up to the SSR the next morning – she'd had to improvise for half the night when they'd asked her about where she was working now and she had come up with the cover that she was now working as a legal secretary.

They had also wanted to know about where she and Angie were living now. Both of them had agreed not to tell the girls about the penthouse (they would have had half of The Griffith over sooner than you could say _Howard Stark_) and so they had talked jokingly about how it could be bigger, how it was rather far from the theatre district but that they suffered and made do, sharing amused looks the whole time.

The elevator doors opened and she was surprised to see the hub of activity in the bullpen – everyone was hurrying around and several of them were talking hurriedly into their phones.

"Daniel?" she called over to him as she hastened forward, her heels clicking with every quick step. "What's going on?"

"We just got a call from NYPD, Gregory Levourne's wife reported him missing this morning," he told her, sounding harassed. She paused in the middle of taking off her jacket at her station, unable to believe what she was hearing. "He's emptied his entire bank account and fled with what's estimated at several million dollars worth of liquid assets."

She opened her mouth to ask if they had any trail to follow, but Jack spoke over her as he came out of his office.

"Leave it on," he ordered her, evidently overhearing their conversation. He gestured sharply towards the elevator as he walked, not pausing to wait for her. "You're with me, we're heading out to Long Island to question her now."

Peggy instantly fell into step alongside him, fastening her jacket once again, and he pressed the button for the elevator that she had left less than thirty seconds beforehand.

"Are you aware that as Chief you are supposed to delegate?" she asked him as they descended down towards the lobby.

Jack looked in her direction as he put his hat on. "This is our case, Carter. We may have had a briefing yesterday, but it doesn't mean any of those clowns actually know what they're doing," he said sardonically, then tilted his head to one side. "Besides, I'm actually enjoying being back out in the field. It gets dull being stuck behind a desk all day," he added and shot a small grin in her direction, a hint of a dimple in his cheek. "Though that could have a little somethin' to do with my charming partner."

She raised her brows at him (was that an attempt at flirtation, or was he just being his usual arrogant self? she wondered briefly) as the elevator doors opened in the lobby. "I wasn't aware that we were partners," she countered as they started to walk once more, somewhat surprised by this new label.

He frowned at her tone. "Come off it, Carter, we work well together," he drawled as they left the building and headed towards his car, which was parked on the curb just outside.

"When you're not being an arse," she allowed, smiling slightly as she realised he was being serious. She couldn't help herself - she had told Mr Jarvis weeks ago that she wanted to be treated with respect, to be seen as an equal to the rest of the Agents, and now Jack Thompson, Chief of the SSR itself, was calling her his partner without a hint of irony. She had thought perhaps that him asking her to come back to the SSR to help find the mole had been a one-off, a sort of freelance mission, but that wasn't the case now that they had uncovered Zodiac. This was real – he was giving Agent Peggy Carter a shot.

"Do you think he knew that we were on his trail?" she asked him once they were driving, referring to Levourne and the fact that he had fled scant days after they had first heard the name Zodiac.

Jack scowled, his eyes on the road and steering with just one hand. "I don't see how," he said, and then shrugged. "Unless he had eyes at the warehouse while we had the team there, there were any number of locals crowding the gate."

She nodded, watching the city pass by through her window. "Any word on Zola?" she wanted to know.

"We were gonna question him this afternoon, but with Levourne fleeing it's kinda been pushed back. We'll get to it though," Jack said in an annoyed tone, looking into his rear-view mirror as he merged into traffic. Peggy bit her tongue, deciding not to comment - she had reluctantly agreed with Jack that Zola should be questioned on the condition that they didn't make a deal with him, but she found her skin crawling at the idea of speaking to that little man.

She didn't trust him, it was as simple as that.

The two of them headed out to Levourne's mansion in Long Island, requiring no direction since they had been there several days ago, and approached via the driveway instead of parking up around the access road. The housekeeper let them in and showed them to an ornate living room – while Howard's furniture was undeniably expensive and fancy, Levourne's tastes evidently leant towards the ostentatious.

A surprisingly young, well-dressed woman who looked like she had been crying recently joined them; she introduced herself as Mrs Daphne Levourne and thanked them for coming before welling up again and burying her face in a silk handkerchief. Seeing her distress, Jack shot Peggy a panicked look and quickly excused himself to look around Levourne's office for any evidence – the coward.

Daphne Levourne only proved to be marginally helpful. It quickly emerged that she was more worried about money and inheritance since her husband appeared to have left of his own free will, taking many of his numerous assets with him, than actually going missing due to malicious reasons. She was, however, able to show Peggy the note that he had left: it was written on rather plain, unremarkable stationary and simply read '_I'm sorry._'

Peggy was listening to her selfish, wailing despair and half nodding along with what she was saying when she absently turned the note over in her hand – there was more writing on the back, a rather feminine script, and simply listed a string of numbers that appeared to have no sequence or link to each other.

_37, 13_

_ 14, 5_

_ 92, 3_

"What's this?" she asked, interrupting Daphne Levourne mid-flow and holding the back of the note up to her.

She elegantly shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't know, I don't know whose writing that is," she told her, before continuing on in much the same vein as she had before while Peggy frowned down at the paper, suspecting it to be a code of some kind. The numbers likely had a corresponding counterpart, probably a text of some kind, but without it they were meaningless and she was unable to make either head nor tail of it.

After some long minutes of listening to her self-pitying tirade, Peggy was able to excuse herself and go to find Jack. He was in Levourne's library, crouched on the floor with a book open on his knee.

"Find anything?" she asked, walking into the room with the note in her hand.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Somethin', perhaps," he admitted, rising to his feet and showing her the book he held – it was rather large, the kind of book one might have on their coffee-table, and was about ballet. "Interesting reading material, wouldn't you say?" he put to her, looking down at the cover and then flicking through the pages. "None of the other books were touched, but this one was out," he said, nodding his head towards the immaculately kept shelves in a library that looked like it was more for decoration than any actual use. He turned it upside down to fan though the pages, but nothing fell out. "No handwritten notes and nothing hidden inside though."

Peggy frowned, remembering that Dottie Underwood had supposedly been in New York to pursue a ballet career, and unfolded the handwritten note once more. "Turn to page thirty-seven" she told him.

He glanced up at her. "What?"

"Page thirty-seven, what's the first word?" she wanted to know.

Jack was frowning at her, but nevertheless did as she asked. He raised his eyebrow and cast a sceptical look in her direction. "Dance," he said simply, his tone questioning and cynical.

Peggy pulled a face, looking at the numbers once more. "Thirteenth word?" she hazarded as a guess, pursing her lips.

He dragged his finger along the line as he counted them. "Shoes – what are you trying to get at here, Carter?" he asked her, sounding unimpressed.

"Bear with me, what about the first word on the thirteenth line?" she asked, convinced that the numbers must be a code of some kind and that Levourne had got the book out before fleeing for a reason.

He sighed and counted down. "We," he told her.

She checked the numbers again. "Page fourteen, first word on the fifth line?"

He flicked back several pages and scanned the page. "Are ..." he said slowly, seemingly realising that she was on to something here. He moved to her side, his arm brushing hers, and looked at the note over her shoulder. He quickly turned to page ninety-two and dragged his finger down to the third sentence. "Discovered," he read, then grabbed the handwritten note from her hand to look at it properly. "Betty's handwriting," he said heavily, scrunching the note tightly in his fist in frustration.

"You're sure?" she checked, gratified that her hunch regarding the numbers had proved to be correct – it appeared that they knew now why Levourne had vanished, he had been tipped off.

"Positive," Jack said bitterly. "I made her fill out various forms and sign things when she was hired and I was looking at them just yesterday before I fired her." He tossed the book onto an ornate couch and stared at the crumbled note in his fist before glancing at Peggy. "Nice one," he allowed, referring to the code she had cracked.

"So Zodiac and Leviathan _are_ working together," she summed up, thinking of the numerous implications of Betty having tipped off Levourne and what it meant for their case. With Levourne involved with Zodiac they already knew that the team of scientists was well funded, but the knowledge that they had joined forces with an organisation as ruthless as Leviathan meant that the whole case was growing bigger and more sinister by the day.

Jack's lips were pressed into a thin line. "Maybe we were too hasty firing her."

Peggy shook her head, still believing that they had made the right decision in doing so despite this revelation. "It is surely better to give chase than tripped by our own team-mates," she told him, knowing that she could have caused all kinds of havoc from within the SSR and easily sabotaged the whole case.

He sighed and nodded. "Come on," he said simply. "Let's get back to the office, we're done here."

* * *

The manic hubbub that had overtaken the office earlier that morning had died down by the time Thompson and Peggy arrived back at the SSR headquarters a little after lunch. Daniel had hung up the phone seconds before they left the elevator and looked up at them as they headed down the bullpen towards the Chief's office. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" he called as they approached.

They both paused, glancing at each other before returning their gazes to Daniel. "Good news," Thompson said in a falsely light voice, leaning on the side of optimism.

"Good news is that we had a call in a few minutes ago," Daniel rattled off, looking up at him from where he remained sat at his desk, the scribbled notes he had taken while he was on the phone sitting in front of him. "Levourne's plane was found abandoned in a hanger."

"Bad news?" Jack asked, evidently knowing full well that there had to be more to it based on the way Daniel had presented this information.

"Plane was found just outside of Dover," he said, grimacing at them.

Jack's brow creased into lines of confusion as he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. "Delaware?" he asked, not seeing the issue. "That's only a few hours away, what's the problem?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not Dover in Delaware, Dover in _England_," he told them plainly, watching their reactions. "The call was from MI6."

There was a long silence as the implication of his words hung in the air between them, then Thompson turned his head to look at Peggy, who was still standing beside him. "You still want to take that leave of absence?" he asked her in a pointed tone.

* * *

Over an hour later they were still arguing and nothing had been resolved.

Despite being Chief, Jack was adamant on heading out into the field and leading a team himself. Ideally, he wanted him, Peggy and Ramirez over in England, but he and Peggy had instantly butted heads on the issue. Both Sousa and Peggy had pointedly reminded him that he was Chief and that he had responsibilities here, he couldn't just flit over to England to take a mission that could last days, or even weeks. Jack had countered that since he'd realised they'd had a mole he had been filtering information that his Agents received so as not to leak anything, thus he was the most qualified for this mission.

Besides, he had argued, he would be leaving Sousa in charge – the only one he trusted to take said responsibilities out of the rest of the clowns in the SSR – which had immediately silenced Daniel and made Peggy role her eyes.

Eventually he'd had to pull rank and overrule her, but she was still making her displeasure known as they made preparations to head over to England. She surprised them by announcing that she owned a small place a little ways outside of Bletchley, where headquarters for branches of both the SSR and MI6 could be found, since much of London had been damaged during the Blitz. She claimed that she would be staying there since she had no desire to share a safehouse or bunker with him and Ramirez, explaining that when her family inevitably wanted to see, her such an arrangement would be rather difficult to explain.

Jack, Peggy and Ramirez were all in the briefing room looking over maps and their pin-board of Levourne's activities in preparation for their mission when Sousa pushed open the door, hefting his crutch as he leant against the table. "We've hit something of a snag," he told them. "The MI6 safehouse near Bletchley is currently in use. Nearest available one is in London, at least two hours drive from the base," he reported.

"There used to be dormitory huts on Bletchley's grounds," Peggy pointed out without looking up, busy pouring over a report of Levourne's investments and stocks.

Daniel shook his head. "I already asked. They were dismantled after the war in an attempt to make it look like Bletchley wasn't actually a secret base."

Jack looked up from the dossier he held – he had set Adams and Geller to work trying to find any links, both personal and professional, that Levourne had within England and this is what they had come up with after a preliminary search, though it wasn't enough and he had sent them digging deeper. "How many rooms does your place have?" he asked Peggy.

"Two," she replied, still staring down at the report.

There was a pause and then Ramirez shrugged, having been complaining that he would likely miss his wife's birthday by going on this mission. "Well, I didn't want to come anyway."

Peggy suddenly jerked her head up, frowning deeply. "You're not seriously thinking -"

"Yeah, I am," Jack replied simply, looking back down at the file he held as he cut her off. "Problem solved."

"No, absolutely not," she retorted instantly, her anger spiking once more. "The whole concept is ridiculous."

He closed the file and crossed his arms over his chest to look at her. "You got a better idea?"

"Frankly I should be going in alone, we don't need a team out there," she told him, rehashing the arguments they had been having for the past hour. "I have worked with both MI6 and the British branch of the SSR. They already have Zodiac on their radar -"

"But they haven't been monitoring Levourne," he pointed out, keeping his voice calm. "He's been on our surveillance watch for some weeks now."

Peggy shook her head, looking furiously at him. "I don't understand why you can't leave me to handle this. I can liaise with MI6 -"

"Because you're also going to be there to liaise with Phillips about your damn global intelligence organisation," he reminded her irritatedly, starting to lose his own temper at her insistence on arguing with him on this.

Sousa blinked, glancing between the two of them. "Global intelligence organisation?" he repeated, but was thoroughly ignored.

"Nevertheless, I am perfectly capable -"

"Carter," he interrupted sternly, reaching the end of his patience with her after nearly an hour of treading the same ground. "My office, _now_."

She stared challengingly at him for a long moment, her lips pursed in anger, then turned on her heel to stalk out of the briefing room with her shoes clicking. He followed her into his office, furiously closing the door behind him. "What the _hell's_ your problem?" he wanted to know, keeping his voice down so that the Agents in the bullpen outside would not be able to hear.

He was met with cold silence; she didn't seem to want to reply.

Sighing, he walked passed her and went to sit on the front of his desk, folding his arms over his chest. "You've got your knickers in one hell of a twist over something, so come on," he asked; he purposefully softened his voice slightly as he lowered his chin and stared her down. "What's really the issue here, Peggy?"

She sighed faintly, the tension breaking and some of the anger seeming to drain out of her. "This is England, Jack," she told him quietly, looking him dead in the eye. "Not Russia, not Germany, _England_."

"Yeah, I get that," he said, nodding once and shrugging one shoulder. "What I don't get is why you're kicking up such a stink about this mission."

"Because it's not _just_ a mission," she said, keeping her voice quiet. "My family is over there and I haven't been home since the war." Some of her annoyance returned and she rolled her eyes slightly. "I told you that if I am over there they will expect me to see them – my brother works at one of the labs in Bletchley, for Christ's sake!" she added, throwing her hands in the air.

"All the more reason for Ramirez and I -" he cut himself off, remembering that Rick wasn't coming any more. "For _me_ – to come," he corrected himself. He shook his head slightly at her, contemplating why she was so determined not to mix family and business and wondering if her family even knew about her true role as an Agent. "I hate to say it, but your focus won't be entirely on the mission."

She shot him an infuriated look; he was evidently riling her up once again even though it wasn't his intention. "You assume that I can't compartmentalise?" she asked bitingly, apparently taking this as a personal jab.

One corner of his mouth quirked up involuntarily. "When it comes to you, Peg, I've learnt to assume nothing," he admitted honestly. He glanced out into the bullpen, where several Agents were hard at work tracking Levourne's recent purchases and investments. He sighed, leaning towards her as he returned his gaze to hers. "We're hot on their trail here, Carter," he said intensely. "We're close and I can feel it, so I'm not bending on this. If you want to go to England then you've got to accept that I'm going with you."

There was another long silence in the wake of his words, then she slowly shook her head. "That much I can accept but you are asking – _demanding_, rather - to stay in my home," she told him, still meeting his eyes – so _that_ was what was bothering her, he realised.

Jack shrugged his shoulders, not entirely sure what to make of the situation himself. "You crashed around mine, fair's fair."

"It may be fair, but …" She raised her chin almost haughtily and continued, "After what happened the other night I don't think it's the best idea," she finished, keeping her voice dangerously neutral.

He blinked and clenched his jaw as he realised what she was saying – she was talking about the kiss they had shared, about the fact that she had kissed him to maintain their cover and he had soundly kissed her back with absolutely no idea that the whole thing had been a ruse.

"You assume I can't compartmentalise?" he retorted sharply with more than a hint of bitterness, throwing her own words back at her.

He knew that his feelings for her were well and truly out of the bag, but he hadn't expected her to use them like that in in argument – if that's what she was doing, that is, it wouldn't be the first time he had read her wrong.

She didn't reply; he sighed and dropped his gaze, not wanting to argue with her anymore. "Look, Carter, we're both adults here so let's just talk about this. What happened the other night …" he forced himself to shrug and met her eyes once more, remembering the feeling of his hand sliding to the small of her back and her mouth moving against his. The words felt bitter in his mouth, but he knew that he couldn't push her on this. "It was part of the mission. I get that."

She appeared to be biting the inside of her cheek, her jaw set into a tense line, and he didn't have a damn clue what she could possibly be thinking. She eventually raised her chin to look at him. "And what about Zola?" she asked instead of arguing further, and he knew that with that he had won this particular round.

"Sousa can handle Zola," he told her, comfortable with leaving Daniel in charge and pleased that they had come to something resembling an agreement. He checked his watch and then pushed himself away from his desk. "Go home and pack your bags, we roll out late tonight. Given the time difference, that should get us into England for just after lunch tomorrow."

* * *

**Next up – we meet Peggy's brother**

**Leave a review, my lovelies – what do ya'll want to see happening in England? :) **

**Big thank you to #cravinghoneydukes and#dontbesillywefall for beta-ing for me. **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN – just so you know, I was basically picturing Ben Whishaw as Q from the James Bond films when writing Peggy's brother. I figured she must have a brother since we see her niece Sharon Carter in CATWS and a sister would likely have taken her husbands name in the 40s.**

* * *

The majority of the eight hour flight to England was spent in silence. While understanding the necessity for the mission, Peggy was infuriated at how it had come about and that Jack had pulled rank, passing over her views on the matter. She had been almost looking forward to returning to England but now the prospect of temporarily sharing her small, terraced house with him had soured her enthusiasm. The tiny, two bedroomed house she owned was situated in a village just outside of Bletchley; she had bought it with some money she had inherited from an aunt during the war and she had never sold it - even after being reassigned to the United States - thinking that she might perhaps return to live in England again someday.

She reluctantly had to agree that Jack had a point on insisting on coming, she thought to herself as they sat in silence. Since he had withheld information from other Agents due to the mole, he was the most knowledgeable on the whole case out of all of them and the best person to lead the mission despite being Chief.

That argument, however, had done nothing to assuage Angie's peals of laughter when she had stopped by the L&amp;L Automat on her way back to the apartment to explain where she was going and who with.

After her comment back in his office that the two of them going together was not the best idea and his dismissal that the kiss had just been for the mission she had suddenly wondered if _she_ was the one making an issue of it. Jack had seemed tense, yes, but not troubled. Maybe he had scarcely thought of the kiss since it had happened, maybe he would have kissed any woman back like that.

The thought had her frowning, uncertain as to why she was disturbed about this. She shook her head slightly in an attempt to clear it of confusion – if they were going to be working and living together for the next few days she would have to get her head on straight.

They were using the SSR's plane, the same one they had taken to Russia, though it felt unusual to be sitting on the benches opposite one another in their normal civilian clothes as opposed to combat gear. Their bags were stowed to one side and both of them were looking out of different windows to the darkness outside, Jack with one foot propped casually up on the bench. It was about two hours into the flight when Thompson spoke, breaking the silence.

"So why don't your family know about your job at the SSR?" he wanted to know.

Peggy coolly turned her gaze to him. "That's a rather bold assumption to make," she said, still annoyed at his heavy-handed methods of coordinating this mission, as well as her own lingering confusion.

He shrugged half-heartedly. "Seems obvious enough," he said, glancing her way. "You are determined not to mix family and business."

She paused, thinking of how much she was willing to tell him about her personal life before replying. "My father and brother know. Benjy works in one of the labs at Bletchley so you'll probably meet him at some point – and I'll thank you not to call him a lab-rat or egg-head as you are wont to do with our own scientists," she added pointedly, having seen first-hand the distinct lack of respect he often showed the scientists and wondering what he and her brother would make of each other. "But my mother and sister are both of the belief that a woman's place is in the home. During the war my more active duties were seen as reasonably respectable, though they didn't even know a fifth of what I actually got up to. They thought I was working in a radio factory, if you'll believe it," she told him exasperatedly. She took a deep breath and raised her shoulders slightly before continuing. "But after the war finished, I was expected to settle down and conform. It is easier to lie and keep them happy, telling the truth would cause unnecessary tension."

Jack had listened in silence, watching her carefully from across the plane as she spoke. "You've got a big family," he observed neutrally.

"I do," she agreed, thinking of them as she spoke. She was looking forward to seeing them again but she was not oblivious to the fact that there would be tension. Her mother and sister in particular had never quite understood her reasons for staying in the United States - her mother would chide that she was nearly thirty and unmarried, while her sister would try yet again to set her up with a friend of her good-for-nothing husband, wanting nothing more than to have Peggy settled into a white-picket fence life next door to her and her own children, meanwhile her father would most likely keep out of the matter entirely and Benjy would find the whole thing terribly amusing. There was a few seconds of silence between them and then she remembered the photograph of his own family that she had seen on Jack's dresser, consisting of him, his parents and his grandparents. "You're an only child," she guessed, deciding to keep the conversation going instead of lapsing back into uncomfortable silence.

His mouth quirked into a very small smile. "Yeah."

"And what does your family think of your work?" she asked curiously, shifting on the bench so that she was facing him properly – it was a long flight, after all, they may as well have _some_ conversation.

His lips thinned into a line and he glanced away. "They don't actually know details," he told her, shrugging slightly. "They just think I just work in law enforcement."

She nodded her understanding. With the kind of work they did it was all too easy to hide the truth, even from those you were close to - there were very few people in the world who she was truly open with. Had her brother not worked at Bletchley she doubted he would have been told the full story either, whereas her father was privy to the details since he had been reasonably high-ranking in the Navy during the war.

"How did you end up at the SSR?" she wanted to know, never quite having understood his motives for joining up. She knew that he had led campaigns and tactical missions, but in comparison to what had gone on in the war very little of the work the SSR did was actually in the combat field. He looked at her questioningly and she elaborated. "I read your war record; you were more of a soldier than a spy."

"Checking up on me, were you, Carter?" One corner of his mouth briefly hitched up into a smile, and then it abruptly dropped back to a frown. He heaved a sigh and shifted, removing the foot that was braced on the bench and facing her properly. "After I …" he grimaced bitterly and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, avoiding her eyes. "... won the Navy Cross," he said pointedly, his voice taking on a queer tone that she understood full well, knowing the story behind his medal. "They started to give me the lead on tactical missions, not just the heavy artillery stuff ... And I was _good_ at it." He shrugged and then linked his hands together between his knees, glancing at her with his shoulders slightly hunched before turning his gaze to the floor. "I _buried_ myself in it - you already know why," he said quietly with a vertical crease between his brows, referring to the story he had told her in this very plane all those weeks ago.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, still gazing downwards. "And then VE Day comes and they tell us the war's finished, but we both know that ain't true," he continued with heavy cynicism, then looked at her properly with his mouth pressed into a thin line as she listened. "... You're not alone in thinking the SSR is all you've got, I don't know what else I would do," he told her plainly, then shrugged once more, returning his gaze to the lightening sky outside the plane. "War's over for some, not for everyone … Not for us."

* * *

They landed at a small, country airfield about half an hours drive away from Bletchley. Jack had stretched out on one of the benches and tried to sleep a little on the plane but no rest had been forthcoming; his body-clock was still set to New York time and telling him that it was the early hours of the morning, but after the short conversation with Peggy in which he had talked about the Navy Cross and why he had joined the SSR he found that he couldn't relax.

The plane taxied towards a small hanger and eventually came to a halt. Peggy paused to speak to the pilot in the cockpit before they left and, leaving her to it, Jack hefted his combat bag over his shoulder and grabbed his case in his other hand, pushing the button to release the doors and lower the stairs with a closed fist. A car was waiting several yards away from the plane, with an unfamiliar young man leaning against the bonnet with his arms folded. He had a mop of unruly dark hair on his head, pale skin and wore black-rimmed glasses; he was wearing a brown cardigan over a white shirt and a narrow black tie.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the man asked in a clipped British accent as he descended the stairs of the plane, furrowing his brows and frowning at him in confusion.

Jack paused, then continued his descent, assuming this person had been sent by the SSR to meet them. "Jack Thompson," he said simply as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

The man minutely raised his brows beneath his dark hair and slowly unfolded his arms to extend a hand towards him. "Benjamin Carter," he introduced in turn, making Jack blink in surprise at this unexpected meeting. "My friends call me Benjy."

"Peggy's brother," Jack said, automatically taking his hand to shake it and looking him up and down – he could see the resemblance, they had the same dark eyes and pale skin.

"That's me," he confirmed, keeping a firm grip on his hand. "Peg's told me about you."

"She has?" Jack asked in some surprise, unable to believe that she would mention him to her family.

"Yeah," Benjamin Carter replied in a pleasant voice, still grasping his hand tightly. "You're the guy who used to send her on coffee and food runs, who made her do all his filing, and then threw her under the bus when it came to taking credit for the Stark case."

His words hung pointedly in the air in the few seconds of silence that followed.

"Benjy, stop being such a wanker," Peggy said fondly from the top of the stairs, a wide, bright smile playing around her mouth as she descended. Her own combat bag was slung over her shoulder, incongruous next to her skirt, blouse and feminine suitcase.

Benjamin grinned and finally dropped his hand, making Jack flex his fingers slightly – they still ached from interrogating Gascone the other day and the death-grip he had just endured hadn't helped. "Just wanted to yank on the Yanks chain," he said jovially, pulling his sister into a tight hug as she reached them. "Good to see you."

"You too," Peggy said, smiling hugely at him. "I didn't realise you were coming to pick us up."

"And I didn't realise that you were bringing company," he retorted pointedly, releasing her from the hug and glancing at Jack once more.

"Jack Thompson, Chief of the NY branch of the SSR; Jack, Dr Benjamin Carter," she introduced, waving a hand vaguely between them even though they had already introduced themselves. "Our prime suspect in the Zodiac case has fled to England so it won't all be tea and chats with Phillips."

Benjy's mouth quirked slightly. "Speaking of Philips, he was jumping for joy when you linked Levourne to Zodiac. And by jumping for joy I mean that his face almost contorted into a smile … _Almost_," he clarified dryly. His gaze then drifted over to Jack again. "Still, his presence complicates things some," he added musingly, his tone mild.

Peggy frowned at him suspiciously. "Complicates things how?"

"How long are you here for?" he wanted to know, neglecting to answer her question in favour of asking his own as they headed towards the car; Jack wordlessly listened to the two siblings easy conversation, intrigued by this new facet of Peggy Carter he was seeing.

"I'm not sure. It depends how quickly we can track Levourne," she rattled off, then returned to her original question. "How is it complicated?"

He scratched the back of his head almost awkwardly. "Well, as far as half the family is concerned you're not here to … do espionage," he explained as they loaded their bags into the trunk – not all of them fit, so their combat gear would be going in the back seat. "They're going to want to know why you have a man in tow."

"I don't see the issue. There is absolutely no reason for them to know that Jack is here," she said firmly, slamming the trunk closed and heading for the front seat.

"I think you underestimate Lottie's ability to sniff out gossip," Benjy retorted dryly and then glanced at Jack from over the roof of the car, who had been following their conversation with bemused interest. "Lottie is our sister," he explained casually, then jerked his chin at Peggy as she climbed into the front seat. "Imagine Peggy in floral dresses and pastel blouses, with a three year old attached to her skirt, a one year old on her hip and a new bump showing beneath an apron - that's Lottie."

Jack couldn't help a small smile at the foreign-sounding image. "Sounds terrifying," he replied over the roof of the car. He was still slightly unsure of what to make of Peggy's brother - he seemed mild-mannered, jovial and friendly, but his hand was also still slightly aching from that handshake.

"Terrifying is right," Benjy agreed, and they both got in the car, with Jack somewhat cramped in the back with their two large combat bags. "Anyway, when she found out you were staying in your place near Bletchley she went on about how it would need cleaning and airing first. That woman is a domestic machine; you may have only called to say you were coming yesterday, but thanks to her the house is habitable and there is food in the cupboards. You're bloody lucky I was able to stop her from surprising you with a home-cooked family meal as well when you arrived - I told her your flight doesn't get in until tonight," he told them, making Peggy visibly widen her eyes at that particular escape as he started the engine. "You won't be able to stall her forever."

"I know, I'll make time to see her at some point," she replied, not sounding particularly enthusiastic at the idea – he wondered if it was because her sister didn't know about her work, or if there was another reason as well. He hadn't known that she had another sibling until she had mentioned her sister on the plane and the two of them certainly sounded different as chalk and cheese. "The mission takes priority though."

He nodded. "I thought as much. Phillips wants to see you as soon as possible, I'm under orders to take you straight back to base." Benjy suddenly frowned into the rear view mirror at Jack as he pulled smoothly out of the airfield. "I've just thought, the safehouse is in use for the Dunne-Lewis case – where are you staying?" he asked into the mirror instead of turning around.

"He is at the house with me," Peggy said stonily before he could respond, keeping her gaze straight ahead, evidently still irked at their coming living situation for the mission. There was a brief pause, then Benjy slowly swung his head to stare at her. "Not _one_ word," she added sternly, reading his silence.

"I wasn't going to say a thing," he said wisely with a small, undeniably amused smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he returned his gaze to the road.

* * *

Daniel pushed open the door to the interrogation room and paused when he saw Arnim Zola sitting in the chair, the prison guards having bought him over that morning. He didn't know what he had expected from one of HYDRA's most notorious scientists, but this small, crumpled little man in a plain grey prison smock and round, thin wire spectacles was not it.

"Doctor Zola, good morning. I am Agent Sousa," he said, limping into the room and putting a cup of coffee, milk and sugar packets in front of Zola. He made a point of being pleasant; this wasn't supposed to be an interrogation after all. He gestured towards the coffee as he sat down, resting his crutch against the table. "I didn't know how you take it, so there's cream and sugar."

"I do not drink coffee," the scientist said simply, his mild and accented voice sounding unimpressed as he looked up at him with his head tilted to one side. "I dislike the taste."

Daniel raised a brow and shrugged slightly. "Alright, let's get started then," he said, opening the file on Zodiac Thompson had given him before leaving for England. "I want you to tell me what you know about Zodiac."

Zola didn't reply, watching him carefully through his spectacles. "We know that they are a team of scientists and we know that they are trying to perfect the Super Soldier Serum," Daniel added, hoping that this would encourage him to talk: if they already knew things he might not feel like he was divulging secrets and be more cooperative.

Zola surprised him by smiling slightly. "The fools," he said simply, still smiling softly. "The serum is already perfected."

Daniel shook his head. "I wasn't talking about Erskine's formula."

"Neither was I," Zola countered, looking amused and satisfied, like he knew something they didn't – Daniel blinked in response, staring at him. Zola had been in prison since before the destruction of HYDRA, did that mean that they had perfected the serum before Schmidt's death? Were there other men out there, working for HYDRA, with Super Soldier abilities?

Before he could work through all of the implications in his head, Zola spoke again. "I do not want to be in a prison, Herr Sousa," he said in a slow, pointed and mild voice, his Swiss accent creating strange inflections as he spoke.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have cast your lot in with HYDRA," he retorted; he was under orders to get whatever information he could out of Zola, but not to make a deal – it had been one of Peggy's conditions to agreeing with Jack's suggestion to question him.

"I was living in Europe during the Reich. Had I been lucky enough to be born in America I would probably be working for your SSR," the little scientist said, then leant slightly across the table towards him, as far as his cuffed hands would allow. "I serve science, not HYDRA, and I want to be able to put my mind to use once more."

Daniel shook his head. "I'm not making a deal with you, Zola," he said firmly.

Zola smiled again; he was watching him carefully, his eyes sharp behind the cheap spectacles. "Not even if I could tell you precise coordinates of where Zodiac is likely based?" he offered, dangling an impressive lure in front of them.

"Not even then," he replied, wondering if he even had such information.

"Well ..." the doctor said slowly, still sounding satisfied as he sat back in his seat and pointedly lifted his hands, which were still cuffed to the table. "You know where to find me when you start hitting dead ends."

* * *

The famous Bletchley base was a large, ornate house set into spacious grounds and guarded by security. They were stopped at the gate and showed their SSR badges to pass; after a brief, cursory inspection in the trunk of the car and their combat gear, they were waved through the gates. They parked up and, leaving their cases and combat gear in the car, headed into the house through the main entrance. The interior was as ornate as the outside and Jack couldn't help but raise an eyebrow; were it not for the security outside and Bletchley's reputation, he would not have thought it was the home of a covert base and code-breaking operations.

They descended a staircase so that they were beneath the building, went through a set of double doors and suddenly everything started to look more familiar – there were labs to one side of the corridor, whereupon Peggy's brother left them to continue on alone, and she led him to a medium sized office room with Agents milling around, containing desks, typewriters and large pin-boards covered in pictures, maps and bits of string linking relevant points together.

There was a man at the far end of the rows of desks looking at one of the boards with a deep frown affixed to his face. He was wearing a very dark grey suit, but the neatness of his clothing and hair, as well as his commanding presence, spoke of the military. "Colonel Phillips," Peggy said as they approached, and he turned towards them, revealing a tanned and weathered face set with stern, heavy lines. They stopped in front of him and she saluted, probably out of habit since the SSR was no longer technically a military operation after the war, before making the introductions once again. "Jack Thompson, Chief of our New York branch; Thompson, Colonel Chester Phillips, Director of the SSR," she said simply.

Jack automatically held his hand out to shake, but Phillips ignored it. "As I understand it, you came into your position rather suddenly after the death of Chief Dooley," he said simply in an American accent that seemed incongruous over in England, giving Jack a look that was distinctly unimpressed. "I looked into your war record when you were promoted. Decorated soldier, campaigns in Iwo Jima, Okinawa and Germany. The story of how you obtained your Navy Cross was particularly distinguishing," he said with a penetrating stare, then one brow rose minutely on his weathered forehead "Of course it would have been more impressive if you hadn't fallen asleep on a night-shift in the first place."

Jack closed his outstretched hand into a fist as he lowered it, digging his short nails into his palm. "I am well aware of that, sir," he said, keeping the biting tone out of his voice.

"Agents Newman, Smith and Wood are assigned to the Zodiac case," Phillips continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You two can liaise with them, I want action plans on my desk by the end of the day." His penetrating gaze turned to Peggy. "We'll speak then," he added pointedly, and she nodded in response.

Phillips turned and headed into his office without another word; Jack exhaled a breath. "A man of few words, isn't he?" he said sardonically as the door closed behind him, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets. He felt slightly wrong-footed, not accustomed to being spoken to like that – when Dooley had been Chief he had been a friend as well as his boss. As Director, Phillips outranked him as just being a Chief of a branch; he felt like an underling for the first time in a long while and didn't like it, used to being in command.

"That's just his way," Peggy said, still looking after him as well. "Come on," she added, then turned to go and find the other Agents on the case.

For the next several hours, despite not having slept the night before or pausing since getting off the plane, Jack and Peggy coordinated with the Agents that were assigned to the Zodiac case. Peggy had been greeted by smiles and handshakes by the team, having worked with many of them before during the war, then they were quick to get to work. The British division of the SSR had already been looking into the team with little success due to their codenames and anonymity, but their discovery of Levourne's involvement had been something of a game changer.

Levourne had made his fortune in highly disreputable, though legally untraceable ways: he would sink thousands, even millions of dollars into various investments across a wide spectrum, and then any rival businesses or opponents would be met with accidents or bad luck, sending his own stocks higher and putting money back in his pocket.

Knowing that he was involved gave them something of a trail to now follow – they put together an action plan focusing on any of Levourne's investments or companies that could be relevant to the serum, anything from medical labs, to refineries, even mines, with several of the egg-heads, including Peggy's brother, helping to narrow their options by talking about lab-specs and what little they knew of the mechanics behind the serum.

Knowing that Zodiac likely had other labs set up besides than the one they had found in New Jersey, Jack had also suggested that they look into the opponents – some of them had been bought out when they started to go under, whereas others had been bankrupt completely. He argued that his meant there were potentially abandoned buildings, rival medical labs, factories, warehouses or refineries, that were now unused and perfect for setting up a lab.

It was well after seven o'clock in the evening that Peggy took their finished action plans through to Phillips, closing the door behind her. Many of the other Agents had already clocked out, with the night-shift taking over. Jack took the time to call the office in New York to find out how Sousa had got on with Zola and then sat on an empty desk with his arms folded to wait for Peggy.

"Thompson," her brother called from the door that led to the labs, coming in to speak to him. "Let's grab a drink."

"You're not exactly my type, pal," Jack countered, glancing at him and then returning his gaze to the door that lead to Phillips office.

"Really, you don't go for dark haired, smart-mouthed Brits then?" Benjamin Carter said with a slow grin, making Jack shoot a look in his direction. "Coulda fooled me," he added. There was a pause during which Jack frowned, a crease appearing on his forehead as he wondered how his feelings for her had been so easily seen. Benjamin chuckled at his scowl. "Come on, Thompson, pub's calling," he said easily, then nodded towards the closed door. "She'll know where to find us when she's done."

* * *

Peggy spent well over half an hour with Phillips going over their plans for the Zodiac case. In general he approved their ideas, especially Jack's suggestion to look into the opponents abandoned premises, but he wanted them to widen their parameters to include Europe as well. She was inclined to agree, Levourne had picked Dover for a reason – he could have crossed the Channel to France on a non-commercial boat and be in the wind with nary a trail for them to follow.

Their meeting wound down and the conversation turned. "I assume Stark has already briefed you about our idea for a global intelligence organisation," he said to her rhetorically as she packed the papers on Zodiac into a file.

"He has," she confirmed.

Phillips sat down behind his desk, staring up at her. "Your reports on Leviathan are disturbing, particularly if they are government led," he said in his steady American drawl, his face set into heavy lines. "The Soviets are growing restless, pushing boundaries after the war. We need to share our intelligence and we will need a response team. I'm expecting Stark to arrive next week, negotiations will start in earnest then. In the meantime you can concern yourself with Zodiac."

She nodded her understanding. "Yes sir."

He opened a folder that he had on his desk, glancing down at it. "You wrote in your report of the mission you took in Russia that Agent Thompson suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder," he said disapprovingly, looking back at her with the question evident in his voice.

"That report was written as an account of a single mission," Peggy replied firmly, knowing what he was getting at. "It was not intended as an assessment of Chief Thompson," she added, placing very slight emphasis on the honorific Chief.

"Nevertheless, you're asking me to put a foreign Agent into my field when he could be a liability," Phillips retorted in his usual blunt manner, sounding unimpressed and unconvinced.

"I can assure you, I can vouch for Thompson's competence," she told him, surprising herself by standing up for him; he was good at his job, after all, and he had proved himself with the Leviathan and Zodiac case so far. "He is a decent Agent and I have faith in him."

The lines on Phillips's forehead deepened as his brows rose. "Faith again, is it, Agent Carter?"

Peggy scowled fiercely, realising belatedly what she had said and how Phillips had interpreted her words. "Don't you start, Chester," she ordered firmly, their long-standing working relationship giving her the authority to talk back to him. "I've already had to deal with this from Benjy."

"Dr Carter has a good nose," Phillips pointed out in a drawling voice, leaning back in his chair and sounding almost amused.

"He is also my brother and it is a sibling's prerogative to tease," Peggy retorted, then primly picked up the remaining files to leave. "I expect a professional attitude from you."

"Agent Carter," he said as she reached the door, making her pause and look over her shoulder at him. His thin lips twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. "It's good to have you back."

* * *

Benjamin Carter had led him to a small pub just outside the grounds of Bletchley Park. It was rather dark and quaint inside, nothing like the swanky bars with their dark wood and green glassed bankers' lamps that he occasionally frequented back in New York. There were only a small handful of people sitting on the rickety looking chairs and the pub contained a pool table, dart board and small area that could perhaps be used for dancing. The two of them sat at the bar, where the bartender greeted Benjy by name, offering him his usual, which turned out to be a dark, stout beer, before taking Jack's order of a whiskey.

He sipped his drink, holding the liquor in his mouth for a long moment to savour the taste before swallowing. "Mm, not a bad scotch," he allowed, feeling the burn in his throat.

"You heathens have converted Peg to that rubbish you call bourbon. Say what you like, it isn't the same," Benjy said in his dry, clipped British accent. Jack silently had to agree that he could taste the difference: American's may do bourbon well, but the Scots did whiskey better and you couldn't get the decent stuff in New York without paying an arm or a leg for it. "Dad always sends her a bottle of scotch for her birthday though."

"I'm sure she appreciates it," he agreed without looking at him, feeling like they were making small talk.

There was a pause and he could feel Peggy's brother looking at him. "I quite like you, Jack, so I'm just going to ask you this once," he said mildly and Jack braced himself for whatever was coming – Bnejy had worked with them for half of the afternoon, plenty of time to form an opinion of him. "What's going on between you and my sister?"

"We're colleagues," he replied dully, still looking down at the amber liquid in his glass.

"Bollocks," Benjy said succinctly, making Jack shoot a swift glance in his direction. The Brit shrugged one shoulder and reached for his beer. "I think that's a load of bollocks," he elaborated mildly, blinking at him.

"Is this supposed to be an interrogation?" Jack asked, taking a swig of his drink – after that damn kiss (_compartmentalise, Thompson_, he reminded himself) he was in no mood to discuss his non-existent relationship with Peggy, certainly not with her brother.

"I suppose so," Benjy acknowledged, then pulled a faux, slightly embarrassed face before admitting, "Not _exactly_ my forte though."

"Well then, I'll make it easy for you and I won't lie. I _do_ have feelings for her, I think any red-blooded male between the ages of nine and ninety would have to be blind or an idiot not to," he admitted with sardonic bluntness, then returned his gaze to his whiskey glass once again, tilting it so the liquid swirled once – it wasn't exactly a secret after all, Benjamin Carter had managed to suss it out scant hours after they had landed on British soil - hell, he had probably pinned him down before he had even got in his car after getting off the plane. "Satisfied?

"Yeah," Carter said with another slight shrug, seemingly having no desire to press the issue further. Jack glanced at him in surprise, having been half expecting some kind of warning or threat; seeing his look, Benjy elaborated. "I know my sister well. This is the first time I have seen her since the war finished and I've got to say was surprised to see her happy," he said, making Jack blink once. "It was easy to tell from phone conversations and letters that she was pretty dissatisfied, both in her personal life and her professional one where the people she worked with neither respected her nor listened to her simply because she was born female," Benjy paused and took a sip of his beer before continuing. "So know that I mean this as a compliment when I say that you are not what Peggy led me to believe one of her colleague would be like – especially not the one that she complained about so much."

There was a brief silence. "Thanks, I guess," Jack said eventually, wondering just how much Peggy had complained about them all back before they had known what she was capable of.

Carter clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll buy you another round," he offered, no doubt noticing that Jack had already nearly drained a double.

"This ones on me," he replied, reaching into his jacket for his wallet and holding up a note between two fingers to get the bartenders attention (currency for nearly every country was kept in a safe in his office back in New York and he had traded dollars for British Sterling before going back to his apartment to pack for the mission). He brought them both another round of drinks even though Benjy was barely half way through his first pint and resolved to nurse this one. He couldn't help but feel like they had come to some kind of silent understanding after that brief conversation, though what that understanding was he couldn't say.

Jack nodded his head towards the empty pool table. "Do you play?" he asked.

Benjy followed his gaze. "I could go for a few games, I'll even teach you Bletchley Rules," he said, getting to his feet. "Don't let Peggy play though."

"Why not?" Jack wanted to know as they headed towards the table.

There was a pause, then Carter grinned widely at him. "Because she's rubbish."

* * *

It was perhaps twenty minutes later that Peggy pushed open the door to the Dog and Duck pub, knowing full well that was most likely where Benjy had taken Jack. Sure enough, the two of them were in the corner playing pool. Benjy was standing with his cue to one side, while Thompson had taken off his jacket and was leaning over the table to take a shot in just his shirt, tie and suspenders – as he did so he glanced up, made eye contact with her, and paused. She smiled briefly at him and he took the shot, potting a ball.

Leaving them to it, she removed her jacket and went to sit down on the chairs closest to the pool table.

Jack won by one ball and Benjy obligingly went to the bar to get the consolatory drinks. "I see you've been taught Bletchley Rules," she observed with a small smile as Jack came to stand with her – Bletchley Rules was a long-standing tradition among those at the base while playing pool in this pub: if both opponents were down to the black then the loser bought a drink for the winner; if they lost by one ball it was a drink for the winner and one other person of their choice; two balls, a drink for them and two other people, and so on and so forth.

"Not a bad system," he agreed, then cast a glance in her direction as he chalked his cue. "Did you need some pointers?" he offered, jerking his chin towards the table.

Peggy blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, not quite understanding.

"Your brother said you're bad at this," Thompson clarified, nodding to where Benjy was leaning on the bar, ordering their drinks. He half-gestured, half-pointed towards the table and continued in a marginally condescending drawl. "Come on, I'll give you a lesson."

"... By all means," she agreed with a slow smile at his arrogance, rising gracefully to her feet. "Rack them up."

He walked around the table to collect the balls from the nets and started to set up the game. "How did it go with Phillips?" he asked as he did so.

"He approves of the action plans though he thinks we should widen our parameters," Peggy reported, watching him. His dark blond hair was messier than usual, she noticed – no doubt due to the all-nighter they had pulled flying to England and then getting straight to work. "I am inclined to agree, Levourne picked Dover for a reason. He can cross the Channel easily from there and be anywhere in Europe without being easily traced."

Jack half nodded. "Half his investments are in England though, he's got ties here," he pointed out, arranging the balls on the table into a triangle.

"Yes and it's definitely worth investigating here," she said, picking up the cue that Benjy had been using and chalking it. "I'm not suggesting we should change our plan, but Levourne is only one man and from what we've heard Zodiac is headed by a team of twelve."

"And we already know they are operating in America, just because Levourne fled across the pond doesn't mean there's nothing back home," Jack agreed, frowning slightly at the thought.

"I trust Daniel to man the wheel in the states," she said, confident in his abilities. "Did he question Zola?" she added, wishing that she could have questioned him herself despite her desire not to have anything to do with the HYDRA scientist.

"Yeah," Jack told her, finishing up with the table and placing the cue-ball in the starting position. "He claims that he has coordinates for a possible Zodiac base but he wants out of prison in return."

Peggy instantly shook her head. "I don't trust him," she said firmly, not willing to compromise on this. Too many people had died because of that man and she wasn't going to see him out of prison just to cut some corners. "I say we don't go down that road unless it becomes one hundred percent necessary."

"Agreed," Jack said, then nodded down at the pool table. "Did you want to break?" he offered magnanimously.

"And here I thought you were showing me how it's done," she reminded him, tilting her head to one side and fighting a small smile once more.

"Pay attention then," he ordered superiorly, then leant over the table. She couldn't help but notice the movement of his muscles beneath the material of his white shirt as he lined up his shot with the cue-ball, a frown of concentration on his face. He took his shot, scattering the balls and sinking one, then straightened up to glance at her. "Right, it's real simple -" he started to say, but she overrode him.

"I assure you, I think have grasped the concept," she said primly, then leant over the table to take her own shot – she instantly sunk a ball.

"Not bad," Jack said, sounding impressed. "When you pot a ball you get another shot -" he started to say, but cut himself off as she wordlessly sunk another.

For the next minute or so she worked her way around the table, steadily potting her five remaining balls. She sunk the black as well and then turned and blinked at Jack, who was standing watching with his lips pressed together and a crease between his brows. "You were saying?" she asked innocently, hiding her smug satisfaction, and he slowly shook his head, evidently well aware that he had just been played.

"I did tell you not to let her play," Benjy said amusedly, standing to one side and watching the proceedings with a whiskey in either hand, the drinks he'd had to buy for losing the last game. He then glanced around the pub. "You're lucky the bar's reasonably empty."

"Why's that?" Jack wanted to know, leaning his weight on his cue.

Benjy grinned at him. "'Cause on a six-ball lose you're buying a round for everyone in here."

* * *

The three of them left the pub shortly after Jack had bought his round and Benjy drove them to a village that was just large enough to have its own pub and a small grocers shop, about twenty minutes away from Bletchley. Being summertime, it was only just approaching dusk and Jack looked curiously out at the passing countryside as they drove, crammed in the back with their combat gear once again. The greenery and fields reminded him a little of the area up-state where his grandmother still lived, though England was flatter, greener and more pastoral. Once they were in the sleepy village, Benjy pulled up in front of a row of tiny, grey-stone terraced houses with small gardens.

The one at the far end had a red door and the garden was not as well maintained as the others, but Peggy got out of the car and looked up at it with a slightly fond expression on her face.

Benjy helped them with getting their bags out of the car but didn't come in, saying that he needed to head home. He hugged Peggy goodbye and shook Jack's hand, adding that he would see them at the office tomorrow.

Peggy unlocked the door and the two of them hefted their cases and combat bags and headed over the threshold. Jack glanced around in interest – the house was pretty small, the downstairs area consisting of a narrow hallway, a cramped living room and a kitchen containing a small dining table with four seats. There was a slight air of neglect even though the house was spotlessly clean and there was a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers in a vase on the table, with a note alongside it that he couldn't make out.

"Nice place," he said honestly – it may be small and pokey, but it had more character than his own tiny, one bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of an unremarkable building.

"Thank you," she replied, picking up the note with her free hand to read it. "I haven't been back here in nearly a year. I'm actually glad that Lottie came by, I can only imagine how dusty it would have been."

"So I was wondering -" he started to say, and then cut himself off when he saw her frowning down at the paper. He wanted to ask what the deal was between her and her sister since there seemed to be some kind of tension there, but then thought that it might be too personal a question. "- What happens if you lose by all seven balls?" he said, changing his question half way through asking.

Peggy glanced up at him and smiled slightly. "If you'd lost by all seven you would currently be wearing no clothes."

He lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow at her. "On a first date, Carter? Didn't think you were that kinda girl."

"It's the reason Benjy doesn't let me play anymore," she told him, ignoring his comment. She was still smiling slightly, her eyes bright with humour. "He and some of the cryptographers once had to walk back to the huts, through security, stark naked with only their security badges."

"Good thing I potted one then," Jack said as they lingered in the kitchen with the table between them and their cases on the floor.

"Why do you think I let you go first?" she retorted smugly, evidently still pleased with herself.

Jack couldn't help a small smile of his own – once again he had underestimated Peggy Carter and she had proved him wrong, with the only cost being his pride and a slight dint in his wallet. "When we're back in New York you'll have to come out with me and the guys, you could hustle free drinks the whole night," he offered lightly, sticking one hand in his trouser pocket.

Peggy's smiled brightened slightly. "I'll hold you to that," she promised.

Jack blinked – would that count as a date? he wondered briefly, and the silence stretched out between them, becoming slightly awkward. He glanced down at his case and combat gear, then checked his watch – it said four o'clock in the afternoon, still set to New York time, whereas the clock on her mantle read nine in the evening. "I don't know about you but I'm still on New York time, which means it feels like it's about the middle of the afternoon after an all-nighter," he said, breaking the silence. "Think I'm just gonna head to bed."

"I think I'll join you," she replied and - dammit, he couldn't help it - he raised an eyebrow at her as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "Mind out of the gutter, Thompson," she chided sternly as she picked up her case and combat gear, no doubt instantly knowing where his thoughts had gone.

"You put it there, sweetheart," he retorted easily, picking up his own bags and following her towards the narrow stairs.

They reached the small, cramped landing where there were three doors. Peggy stood in front of one and nodded her head towards the other two. "Bathroom is there, that will be you," she said, and he pushed open the door she had indicated to reveal a little room decorated in neutral colours with a latticed window that looked over the back garden, containing a single bed and chest of drawers.

"Thanks," he said, thinking that he hadn't slept in a single bed since his days in the Navy and wondering if it would be too short for his six foot frame.

Peggy nodded, lingering by her own door. "We'll head back into Bletchley at O-eight-hundred-hours tomorrow morning, scope out some of those buildings," she said to him all business, and then added, "I thought earlier that we should also look further into Matthew Shorely, he left England for New York for a reason."

"Good plan," he agreed, lingering in the doorway of the room that would be his for the duration of their stay. There was another pause, then he dropped his gaze. "Night then," he added, glancing back up at her.

She smiled, her hand wrapped around the handle of her own door as she pushed it open. "Night, Jack."

* * *

**Next up – a mission goes wrong … **

**Have you heard we're getting a season 2? Whoop! :)**

**Thanks to #dontbesillywefall and #cravinghoneydukes for beta-ing for me.**

**And thank you all for your reviews – keep 'em coming! **


	8. Chapter 8

When Jack woke up the next morning he was slightly confused about where he was, looking around the unfamiliar room for several seconds before remembering that he was in Peggy's house in England. Checking his watch, which he had set to English time the night before, he saw that it was just past six in the morning. He felt surprisingly well rested, though that might have a little something to do with the fact that he'd had nearly nine hours sleep, an unprecedented amount for him after the war.

As he lay in bed with one arm folded behind his head, looking at the blue sky out of the small, latticed window, he heard the sound of the shower running in the other room and realised that was what had woken him. He stayed where he was for several long minutes until he heard the water turn off, then the sound of Peggy's door closing, before getting up himself.

He headed to the bathroom with his towel and toiletries to shower, standing in front of the sink with just a towel slung around his hips to shave in the steamed up mirror when he was done. He paused before leaving his soap, razor and toothbrush in her bathroom, unsure of what the protocol was while staying with her though finding himself oddly charmed by the sight of his red toothbrush next to her blue one.

Once he was dressed in his usual work clothes he headed downstairs, finding Peggy in the kitchen filling the kettle from the sink. "Good morning," she said simply when she heard him, not turning to face him.

"Morning," he replied, then started looking through the cupboards. "Any coffee?"

"No, Lottie wouldn't have thought to get any," she replied, then glanced at him as she set the kettle on the stove to heat it. "I'm making tea," she added, the offer clear in her voice.

Jack shrugged and handed her two of the mugs he had just found in a cupboard. "When in Rome, right?" he said in response, knowing that tea to the Brits was what coffee was to the American's. While she busied herself setting the plates, cups and a teapot on the small dining table, he found bread and put it in the toaster to toast, finding jam in the fridge and adding it to the table as well. Neither of them were speaking as they worked, but still the whole dynamic was strangely _domestic_ – strangely being the key word there: in the household he had grown up in a man would never have made his own breakfast, he would be sitting with his paper while the woman served him coffee and food, but somehow with Peggy, who most certainly did not fit the stereotype of a housewife, it felt perfectly normal to be making breakfast alongside her.

He suppressed an amused chuckle – it wasn't like they were married, after all, and given her displeasure at the heavy-handed way he had coordinated this mission she may well have let him starve rather than cook for him if he refused to help.

The kettle was starting to whistle by the time he had done enough toast for both of them and so he put the slices in a rack. He settled down at the table and picked up the morning paper to glance at the sports pages, but didn't recognise any of the names or teams. Meanwhile Peggy was making the tea and he quickly found that watching her was far more interesting than his paper. It was almost like a ritual: she poured a small measure of the boiling water into the teapot, swirled it round and then poured the whole lot away before adding two tea bags and more scalding water before carrying it over to the table. She let it steep while she buttered and added jam to a slice of toast for herself, taking the business section of the paper to read as well. Then, with her mouth full of a bite of toast, she poured the tea out into the two mugs, adding milk to both and wordlessly handing one to him.

Jack took a sip and instantly pulled a face – he didn't understand why she liked it so much, to him it tasted like liquid cardboard, nothing like the bitter, roasted taste of coffee.

As he ate breakfast his gaze fell on the hand-written note beside the flowers that Peggy had been frowning at the night before. It was written in loopy, feminine cursive and simply read _Welcome home! Lots of love, Charles, Lottie, Maggie and William_ – hardly anything to cause the scowl he had seen.

"Are you ready to leave?" Peggy asked once they had both finished breakfast, piling the dishes by the sink to be done later.

He glanced at his watch, which read just past seven. "O-eight-hundred, right?" he checked, since that was what she had said the night before.

"Yes, but if you're ready we will go in earlier," she replied, dusting off her hands.

"Let me grab my jacket," he said by way of a reply. He retrieved his jacket and hat from upstairs before joining her in the kitchen again. "How are we getting to Bletchley?" he asked, checking his gun in his holster.

"By car, there is a garage around the back," she said, fastening her own jacket and smoothing her hair. She jerked her chin towards a rack of keys by the back door. "Would you grab the keys? They're over there."

They headed out of the back door, with Peggy locking up behind them with a different set of keys, and made their way to a small garage at the back of the row of houses. Inside were numerous tools, a work bench and a dark red Riley Falcon. Jack whistled low at the sight, bending to inspect the silver grill. "Beauty," he said, surprised that Peggy would own such a vehicle.

"It was my father's, he gave it to me before the war broke out," she explained, opening the unlocked door (this was a small village after all, not New York) and climbing in. Jack went to join her, instinctively going for the driver's side. As he opened the door he belatedly realised that he was actually on the passenger side, this being England, and Peggy was already behind the wheel.

She had a small smile on her face as she held out a red-nailed hand for the keys he still held, evidently well aware of his blunder, and he handed them over wordlessly.

* * *

For the next several days Peggy and Jack fell into a surprisingly easy rhythm – she had thought that living with him would be awkward, but they ended up being too busy with the mission to truly tread on each other's toes. Their day to day routine tended to be leaving early for Bletchley, working late, grabbing a quick dinner and then a night cap while talking about the case, with papers spread all over her kitchen table, before heading up to bed.

Both Jack's suggestion that they look into Levourne's opponents and Peggy's hunch that there was more to Matthew Shorely proved to be right on the mark: it turned out that Shorely had worked for a company called Bio-tech, which specialised in medical research and had been bought out by Levourne during the war. The team focused on Bio-tech, looking into to all of its old premises – thus far, they had found nothing suspicious, with many of the old buildings either completely abandoned or turned into offices, but they kept digging.

On the fourth day it looked like they had struck gold – one of Bio-tech's old, disused research labs on the outskirts of London had been discovered to still have some activity surrounding it. Peggy, Jack and Agents Wood, Newman and Smith had all geared up and headed down there to scope out the area, which had been damaged during the Blitz.

Using a small copse of trees near to the building as cover, Thompson was examining the building through a pair of binoculars and frowning. "There's lights on, so someone's home," he said, not lowering the binoculars from his face. "And a car around by the east entrance – licence plate I-H-4-2-0-3-5," he rattled off, then looked at them expectantly.

Newman had a dossier of everyone from Bio-tech that they had managed to snoop out, as well as several of Levourne's other business partners. There was a pause as Newman flicked through. "Here we go, chaps," he said, looking down at the paper. "Registered to Mr Ryan Grant, one of the primary scientists at Watts Holdings Ltd," he said, naming one of the companies that Levourne had financially backed in order to sink Bio-tech.

"Hot damn, we got 'em," Thompson said, shifting his rifle so that it was resting comfortably under his arm – by wordless agreement, he had taken lead on the mission, outranking the rest of them as Chief of a branch even though they all answered to Phillips. "Two teams, me and Wood, then Carter, Newman and Smith. You guys scout out the east side of the building, we'll head round the west entrance and flush 'em out."

Peggy nodded her agreement and, with a sharp gesture of her hand, indicated that Newman and Smith should follow her.

Night had fallen and they crept around the side of the building, heading towards where the car was parked. Wood, Newman and Smith had all proved themselves to be competent Agents in their preliminary investigation, but this was the first time she and Jack had worked with them in the field – she suspected Jack would have preferred to have her with him while routing the lab, but wanted someone he could trust leading the other half of the team.

The radio at her side crackled to life. "We must have tripped an alarm," Thompson said. "They're rabbiting, headed your way."

Sure enough, a door burst open and three shapes dashed towards the waiting car. Not wanting to use lethal force, she instantly shot out the tyres of the car before they could even reach it, hindering their escape. Newman and Smith broke cover in an attempt to apprehend them and didn't see one of the men drawing a gun. From her position in the shadows, Peggy quickly took care of him before he could fire, while the other two scientists were tackled to the ground.

"Two apprehended, one casualty," she said into her radio, but static was her only reply. "Thompson, report," she demanded after several seconds of silence, firmly pressing the button on her radio.

"We need medical assistance in the lab," Wood's voice came through the radio, sounding shaken. "West entrance, double time."

_Jack_, she thought, her heart lurching up into her throat.

"Stay here," she ordered Newman and Smith, who already had the two men in handcuffs, and took off at a run around the side of the building. She barrelled in through the door and sprinted down a long corridor, following the sound of voices ahead.

Bursting into the lab, she was relieved to see Jack standing with his back to her in front of a gurney – and, bloody hell – there was a young man on it, his skin tinged blue and gasping for breath.

Jack looked over his shoulder at her. "Little help, Carter," he said, his voice strained as he tried to detach the wires and IV lines from the boy's skin.

Peggy leapt forward, stopping him with her hand on his arm. "You can't unhook him, God only knows what it will do," she argued, staring in horror at what had been done to the poor boy – they were clearly still testing the serum, but the young man's breathing was laboured, gasping for breath, and he scarcely seemed to know that they were there.

"No time, _look_ dammit," Jack ordered her, gesturing towards the boy – and suddenly Peggy saw what she had initially missed due to the blue tinge on his skin. He was covered in deep bruises, clear signs of internal bleeding. "We need to get him to a hospital _now_," Jack added as the boy gasped, practically choking on the air as he desperately sucked it in.

Peggy helped pull out the last of the wires that were hooked up to him. "Come on," she ordered, and Jack quickly lifted him up in his arms as if he weighed nothing. They jogged out of the building and ordered Wood to circle back round to meet Newman and Smith, meanwhile they headed towards Peggy's car that was parked just beyond the perimeter.

She opened the door to the back seat and Jack carefully lay the boy on the seat before climbing in with him, his hand going back to his neck to check his pulse. Peggy dashed around the car and threw herself in the driver's side, not bothering with her seat belt and starting the engine. The wheels screeched as she sped away, flicking on her headlights as she practically flew down the road.

"Listen to me, Tommy, focus on my face," Jack was saying to the boy, though she didn't dare turn around to even glance at them as she weaved her way through traffic, going as fast as she dared. Thompson's voice was rough and low, shaking ever-so-slightly. "Come on, you were telling me about your girl."

"K-karen, she -" the boy said laboriously, still gasping for breath.

"That's it, tell me about Karen," Jack said soothingly, but a gasping, wheezing, hacking cough was his only reply – from the sound of it, she suspected that he had fluid in his lungs. "... Peggy, can you go any faster?" he asked her with quiet urgency from the back seat, the worry evident in his voice.

"Pedal is to the floor, Jack," she replied, jerking the wheel to go around a truck, which loudly blared its horn at her in response – it was lucky that it was late and there wasn't much traffic on the road this time of night.

"Jesus," Jack whispered under his breath, then she heard him speaking louder once more. "Come on Tommy, stay awake for me," he said sternly as the boy wheezed and gasped for several agonisingly long seconds. "Stay awake, look at me."

There was a pause, then a single, rattling breath. "Tommy," Jack said sharply, though there was nothing but silence in the back seat. "... Goddammit - Tommy, _Tommy_."

Peggy clenched her teeth, still staring out at the road ahead as she sped through the darkness, knowing full well what the long, deafening silence meant.

She felt Jack's hand lightly touch her shoulder as he leant over the partition between the front and back seats. "Don't bother going to the hospital," he said heavily, his voice resigned. "Straight back to base ..." She continued her furious driving for several long seconds, then cursed softly under her breath as she lifted her foot from the pedal, instantly slowing the car to a more reasonable speed. Behind her, she heard Jack take a breath, then he thumped the partition in frustration. "The egg-heads – the _scientists_ \- might be able to determine some of the ingredients in the serum they were using from his blood," he added in a hollow tone. "If we know what they are using then maybe we can narrow our field more."

The car was deathly silent as they drove back towards Bletchley. Due to her fast driving, they made it back to base long before Wood, Newman and Smith and so it fell to them to give Phillips the report while the scientists removed the body from the back of her car, placing it on a stretcher and covering it with a sheet.

Thompson was the one to give the report while Peggy stood white and stoic beside him. Phillips was pleased, though he showed it in his usual, stern manner, congratulating them both and telling them to take the day off tomorrow since they had been working non-stop since their arrival, saying that Newman could handle the questioning.

Despite having two suspects to question and the discovery of a working lab, including all of the files and data that had been missing from the one in New Jersey, she still couldn't help but feel like the mission was a failure.

Jack touched her hand as Phillips dismissed them and they headed towards the locker room to change back into their civilian clothes. Unlike the changing room at the SSR, there were no lockers to act as a partition – earlier she had gotten changed before the rest of the team, but now she and Jack simply turned their backs to each other as they started to strip down.

"You alright?" he asked her after a moment, no doubt picking up on her silence and anxiety. She couldn't help it: that poor boy had died because people were trying to create the serum – _Steve's_ serum – and they had been absolutely powerless to help him. Maybe he wouldn't have died gasping for breath on the back seat of her car if they had only found the factory sooner, if they hadn't unhooked him from the machines, if they had …

"No," she replied honestly, her voice catching. Her fingers fumbled with the straps on her combat gear that refused to come undone. "Bloody _hell_ -" she started to say in sheer frustration, but stopped as she felt Jack's hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.

Wordlessly, he unclipped the clasps for her one at a time, already stripped down to just his under-shirt and combat trousers. His mouth was set into a grim, narrow line and there was a deep crease between his brows. "It's no one's fault, Carter," he said as he started on the buttons down the front of her fatigues, his eyes fixed on his work – she had an armoured vest and a slip on underneath, but still it felt alarmingly intimate though she did nothing to stop him. "It's not yours and it's not mine – it's _Zodiac_ and we are going to get the rat-bastards, each and every one of 'em," he promised her. He finished on the buttons and glanced up into her eyes, his hand lingering on the bottom of her combat jacket.

She stared at him in silence for a moment, then he dropped both his hands and his gaze, taking a deep breath. "Keys," he said simply, holding out a hand towards her.

"What?" she asked, not quite understanding what he meant.

"Keys, I don't trust you to drive right now," he explained, still holding out his hand.

She frowned at him, aware that her clothing was half unbuttoned despite the armoured vest underneath. "I'm alright," she protested, annoyed that he was doubting her.

He raised a brow at her, the slightest hint of his usual sardonic attitude returning. "You just said that you weren't," he pointed out and she relinquished the car keys with a sigh.

They turned their backs to each other once more and continued to get changed, this time in silence.

Jack drove them back to her house and she realised that it was probably a good thing that he had taken the keys – she found herself unable to even glance in the back seat, even though there was no trace of the boy to be found. Still, she was distracted and sad, in no state to drive. She didn't even notice them pulling up to the house until Jack was opening the passenger door for her, staring at her with a frown since she hadn't moved.

They headed into the dark house and she unlocked the door; the very first thing that she saw was the papers that were strewn over her kitchen table, all of the intel they had managed to gather on Bio-tech and everything that had led them to that particular factory tonight.

She took a deep breath and sighed, staring at the mass of papers. "I'm going to bed," she said softly, sincerely hoping that the shock of tonight's mission would have worn off by morning and she would be back to her usual self.

Still, she doubted that she would sleep – and if she did, she knew from experience that there would probably be nightmares.

* * *

The clock on Peggy's mantle read just past three in the morning, but Jack was still wide awake. He was sat in her living room in just his under-shirt and trousers, having shed his jacket, shirt and tie, with the bottle of bourbon that he had sneaked into his case in his hand. He was sitting in the dark and drinking straight from the neck, dwelling on the mission they had just taken.

He had killed people in the past – what soldier hadn't – but he didn't have a problem with it so long as they had a gun in their own hand and were trying to kill him, it was just doing what needed to be done. But someone dying slowly as he tried to save them … he swallowed hard against the burn of the alcohol. He hadn't experienced that since he had been in the trenches, and somehow that was far worse than killing.

He suddenly heard a noise upstairs and glanced instinctively at the ceiling – it had sounded almost like a moan, like someone in pain, followed by quiet once again.

_Peggy_, he thought simply as the silence stretched on, remembering how effected she had been by the mission and the boy's death.

The noise came again and he quickly stood, the bottle still in his hand. He softly climbed the stairs to listen at her door; he heard a faint, gasping cry and hesitated with his hand around the handle. He carefully pushed the door open: the dark room was slightly bigger than his own, with a double bed, where Peggy was laying among twisted sheets. The bedding was pushed down to her waist, revealing her silk, feminine nightwear that was a stark contrast to the combat gear she had worn earlier. As he watched, she tossed her head to one side, evidently disturbed by dreams.

"Carter," he said, keeping his voice low and lingering in the doorway.

She quickly jerked awake and sat up, instantly going for her gun on the bedside table. Her breathing was hectic and she was blinking rapidly, clearly disoriented. She saw him standing in the doorway and put the gun down before dropping her head to her hands and breathing deeply. "I'm fine," she said defensively, her voice muffled as she tried to get a handle on her breathing.

"The hell you are," Jack argued, crossing the room in three strides to take a seat on her bed and pull her into his arms. She was tense and defensive, but she still let him pull her close and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, her hair soft between his fingers, whereas the other remained by his side, still holding the bottle of bourbon he had been swigging from. There was a long pause as he held her and let her calm down from her dreams. "You too, huh?" he asked eventually as she took another shaking breath; he didn't judge her in the slightest, he was no stranger to nightmares and disturbed sleep.

There was a pause, then she spoke softly into his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his skin. "I don't think there is a man or woman who isn't haunted by what they saw in the war," she said, her voice surprisingly controlled for one who had been so panicked moments ago – then again, this was Peggy Carter. "Tonight just ... bought it all flooding back," she admitted, keeping her forehead pressed into him like he was her anchor, like she needed him.

Without thinking of what he was doing, Jack turned his head and slowly pressed his lips to her hair in an attempt to comfort her.

She drew back slowly and his nose brushed ever-so-slightly over the skin of her temple as she went, his hand still cupping the back of her head. The last time he had touched her like this, his fingers wound through her hair, she had been pressing her mouth to his in a searing kiss. They looked at each other in silence, their faces inches apart, and, remembering that night in La Martinique, Jack released her hair and slowly moved his hand down to lightly and curiously touch her lips, his gaze fixed on her mouth. He could scarcely make her out in the dim light, but he knew that her lips would be an alluring and natural dark pink, not her usual tempting red.

His fingers curled under her chin, so light he was scarcely touching her, and he could feel her breaths on his thumb as he swept it slowly across her lower lip, remembering the way her mouth had moved against his.

"You've been drinking," she said in response to his touch, her voice shaky.

"... Yeah," he admitted, realising what he was doing and glancing down at the bottle that he was still holding in his other hand; he'd had less than a third of it, but he could still feel the effects of the alcohol. The strange tension between them broke and, returning his gaze to her, he slowly lowered his hand from her face so that he was no longer touching her. "Couldn't sleep either, I guess," he said in a slightly dull tone, his voice catching slightly.

There were several long seconds of silence between them, their gazes locked and the only noise being their breaths, then Peggy dropped her gaze to the bottle of bourbon that he held. "Is there any more of that going?"

* * *

For the next few hours Peggy and Jack passed the bottle between them, both of them drinking straight from the neck. He had joined her on the bed, sitting against her headboard as the two of them slowly got drunk in a bitter attempt to forget about the disastrous mission and their nightmares. Some of the night they were sitting in silence, other times they shared old war stories – Jack told her about the guilt he felt after Okinawa, how he would punish himself with his duties and sometimes even be reckless on missions on purpose, and in turn she hesitantly told him a little about Steve.

It was the early hours of the morning and he was slumped among the pillows as she spoke, his head tilted to look at her and she could see the haze of alcohol in his blue eyes – they were nearly at the bottom of the bottle at this point, but it wasn't like they had to go into work in the morning. She confessed that she loved Steve but that their relationship had been all _potential_, that he had been taken from her before it could grow to more.

Seeing his eyelids drooping heavily and knowing that Jack probably wouldn't remember this in the morning, she even hesitantly told him about the crash of the Valkyrie and their conversation over the radio, the bourbon loosening her own tongue.

"Idiot," Jack muttered to himself with his eyes closed as she finished the story. She looked at him, sprawled out on her bed in just his work trousers and under-shirt, his usually neat, dark blond hair a mess after their mission and near to passing out from the amount of alcohol they had consumed. His next words were garbled and slurred, his eyes still closed, and all she was able to make out was, "... damn the risk … safe landing … I would have done."

Then his head dropped to one side and he started to snore, clearly out like a light.

She stared at him for several long seconds, then took another large gulp of the nearly empty bourbon, scarcely even able to feel the burn in her throat any more. For nearly half an hour she sat silently beside him as she finished off the bottle, listening to the sound of his breathing and the occasional noises he made while he slept beside her. She knew that she should go and sleep in his room or on the sofa, or she should wake him up and tell him to leave, but she didn't move.

Thoughts were whirling around her head, the alcohol making her feel fuzzy and confused.

Another young man had been killed by Zodiac and they had been unable to save him.

When Agent Wood had said over the radio that they had needed medical assistance she had thought something had happened to Jack and that had terrified her.

She had seen the desire in his eyes, even in the dim light, when he had carefully touched her mouth and she knew that she wasn't the only one who had been thinking about that _bloody_ kiss.

She was coming to rely on Jack too much, she knew that, but after the nightmares that had shaken her, tonight - just for tonight – she would allow herself to be weak. Peggy felt cold and Jack was like a furnace beside her, and so it was a very deliberate decision to slowly put her head on his chest and curl up against him.

Half waking up at her movement, Jack sleepily wrapped an arm tight around her and buried his face in her hair, and, when she heard the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath her head, she couldn't bring herself to think that it was a bad idea.

* * *

Jack woke slowly and groggily – the first thing he was aware of was the thumping headache behind his eyes, the second was his churning stomach, and the third was Peggy Carter pressed against him with her head tucked beneath his chin. He tilted his head with difficulty to look down at her, one hand sleepily moving down her arm. She was fast asleep – thank god, she probably would have castrated him otherwise – and curled into him. One of her hands had crept up beneath his shirt during the night and was lightly resting on the bare skin of his ribcage, meanwhile her long lashes were brushing her cheeks, her lips were slightly parted and her hair was spread out over his chest.

She looked so damn beautiful.

And he felt so _damn_ hungover, he realised, spotting the empty bottle of bourbon half buried among the covers beside her.

He seriously considered just staying where he was, enjoying this guilty pleasure - hell, the feeling of her soft and feminine hand on the bare skin of his abdomen was doing nothing to quell his morning arousal – but knew that he shouldn't.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he eased himself out from underneath her, lowering her head to rest on the pillow instead. She stirred and sighed at the movement, but thankfully didn't wake. He sat on the edge of her bed, trying to gauge the extent of his hangover – this wasn't his first rodeo, he'd had a slight drinking problem since returning from the war, which was how he had been able to recognise it in the homeless bum Sousa had bought from the docks, and so he knew that some coffee and food would soon see him well enough to function for the day.

Leaving her bedroom door partially open, he headed down to her kitchen and looked in the cupboards. Finding the ingredients to make a cooked breakfast – the perfect remedy for the after-effects of their drinking – he set a pan on the stove and got to work. Several minutes later, he headed back up to her room with two full plates.

"Hey, Carter," he said to wake her, a plate in each hand. She had turned onto her front while he had been downstairs, but the sound of his voice had her stirring and blinking sleepily up at him – and if the pained grimace on her face was any indication, she was just as worse for wear as he was. He lifted the plates pointedly. "If you're feeling it as much as I am you're probably going to need this."

Still laying on her front, she propped herself up on her elbows, inadvertently giving him a view down her nightdress that would have inspired a eunuch, and frowned up at him. "Bloody _Nora_, Thompson, did you make breakfast?" she asked, her voice rusty from just having woken up.

"Yeah, move up," he said, handing her one of the plates and cutlery as she sat up properly. He joined her on the bed, sitting up against the headboard once more and digging into his own breakfast.

"Thanks," she said, still sounding surprised as she stared down at the plate of food in her hand. She then blinked and shook her head slightly, her normally smooth and porcelain brow filled with heavy lines. "How much did we drink last night?" she asked in a pained voice.

Jack fished the bottle of bourbon from the mass of covers beside them and held it up to the morning light – aside from the dregs in the bottom, it was completely empty. "Bottle was full when I opened it. You joined in less than a third of the way through," he told her around a mouthful.

"That'll be why it feels like I have an …" she paused and blinked several times as she searched for the words, looking more peaky than he had ever seen her. "... army of angry sheep in my head," she finished weakly, making him chuckle slightly.

They were about half way through their breakfast when there was a knock on the door downstairs. Jack frowned at the sound. "You expecting anyone?" he asked.

"No," Peggy said with her mouth full, making no move to go and answer it.

"The office?" he said as whoever it was knocked again,

She shook her head. "Phillips would have phoned if it was anything at work," she said, and then shrugged. "Ignore it, it's probably one of the neighbours."

Suddenly there was the sound of a key in the lock and the door downstairs was pushed open – Peggy instantly grabbed her gun from the bedside table at the sound and clicked off the safety, combat ready at a moment's notice.

"Peggy?" a feminine, British voice called from downstairs.

"Oh _bugger_," Peggy said under her breath, looking positively horrified as she lowered the gun. If he had thought that she looked peaky before, it was nothing compared to her wan complexion now.

"What is it?" Jack asked with a frown at the door, while at the exact same time the woman, whoever she was, called again.

"Peg, are you home?"

"I'll be right down, Lottie," Peggy called back, scrambling from the bed, and he realised that this must be her infamous sister, the one with whom she appeared to have a slightly strained relationship with. "Stay in here - and whatever you do, do _not_ let her find you," she hissed warningly at him, grabbing a dressing gown from a hook at the back of the door and pulling it on over her silk nightdress.

"Peg, you lazy goose, are you still in bed?" Lottie said from downstairs, her girlish voice sounding amused and indulgent.

Peggy was hurriedly fastening the tie around her waist. "Yes, I had a rather late night last night," she called back to her by way of an explanation.

There was a brief pause, during which Peggy headed for the bedroom door, gesturing sharply for Jack to stay put, then Lottie spoke again. "... Would that late night happen to have anything to do with the man's jacket, shirt and tie that I just found in your living room?"

* * *

**Next up – Lottie … **

**Thanks to #dontbesillywefall and #cravinghoneydukes for beta-ing, as well as all you lovely folks for your awesome reviews – keep 'em coming! What do ya'll want to see happening in the next chapters?**


	9. Chapter 9

Jack had seen Peggy in combat, withstanding interrogation, and under heavy fire, but he didn't think he had ever seen her so discomposed as she was now. Anyone would think that she was on her way to face a firing squad, whereas Jack cautiously followed her down the stairs with the air of a guilty teenager caught with his girlfriend. The infamous Lottie was not so threatening, he thought as he caught his first glimpse of the woman hovering at the bottom of the stairs. He did a slight double take at the sight of her – she was a near spitting image of Peggy with longer, wavier hair that was several shades lighter than sister's, softer features and an obvious baby bump visible beneath her floral patterned dress.

She was biting her lip against a wide smile as they sheepishly descended the stairs, with Peggy still in her dressing gown and him in just his under-shirt and trousers. Lottie beamed and pulled Peggy into her arms as she reached her. "Oh, I've missed you!" she said glowingly as they hugged.

"You too," Peggy said, smiling genuinely despite still looking peaky and uncomfortable. "I wasn't expecting you today," she added as Jack lingered awkwardly half way up the stairs behind her.

"Well, Benjy said you had the day off -"

"I am going to _murder_ him," he heard Peggy mutter under her breath

"- So I thought I would pop round and see if you might like to come for lunch," Lottie said cheerfully. Her dark gaze, so similar to Peggy's and currently alight with happiness, drifted over Peggy's shoulder to look at him and, if possible, her smile widened even more. "Of course you are very welcome to join us, Mr …" she said, trailing off pointedly.

"Thompson," he clarified, glancing to Peggy for instruction – he and Peggy hadn't had a chance to discuss their cover: Benjy knew the truth, obviously, but Lottie would currently be busy making her own assumptions.

"Lottie, this is Jack Thompson," she said in a tone that sounded somewhat forced. "Jack, my sister, Charlotte Banks," she added, evidently no longer going by her maiden name.

Standing a step behind Peggy on the stairs, he extended a hand towards Lottie. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Banks," he said politely, noting that Peggy had neglected to clarify what, exactly, their relationship was supposed to be or how they knew each other.

"Call me Lottie, please," she gushed, shaking his hand and flicking her gaze over him. "You're from the States?"

"New York, born and bred," he told her, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets as an automatic defence mechanism to hide his awkwardness at the whole situation.

"I understand Peggy is quite taken with New York," Lottie said brightly. She looked at Peggy, biting her lip once more as her brows rose. "Though perhaps it is not _just_ the city that's been keeping her over there?"

Peggy's answering smile was wide, but distinctly false and awkward – he wondered briefly when he had started to be able to tell when she was smiling for real. "Is the newest one giving you any trouble?" she asked with the air of one changing the subject, gently laying a hand on her sister's bump.

"No," Lottie chirped contentedly, also stroking her stomach. "Though Benjy is adamant that if it's a boy he should be named after him, since you already have Maggie named after you." Maggie, short for Margaret, he assumed.

Still standing on the stairs, he watched as Peggy's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "And how is my namesake?" she wanted to know.

"Rambunctious, loves to play in the dirt and is far too fond of Daddy's old naval stories," Lottie said with a slight laugh, making Peggy smile truly, her expression fond. "I'd say she takes after her Aunty Peggy. She's talked of nothing but you since we heard you were arriving."

"Speaking of which, I wanted to thank you for tidying the house before I – _we_ – got here," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Jack, her awkwardness returning slightly; she was clearly still wrong-footed by the whole situation despite being pleased to see her sister. He felt slightly guilty all of a sudden: her main reason against him coming on the mission was her determination not to mix family and business, but that was not working out so well. "It was very kind of you."

"It's no trouble," Lottie replied, waving away her thanks. She craned her head to peek into the kitchen and smiled again, evidently amused. "Though I see you haven't exactly kept it clean," she chided good-naturedly, walking through to the kitchen as she spoke.

Jack and Peggy followed her into the kitchen; the remnants of the breakfast he had made were still littered on the stove and by the sink, whereas papers from their case were strewn all over the kitchen table. Interested, Lottie picked one of them up and started studying it.

"Those are mine," Jack said hastily, stepping forward to clear the table before she could see too much.

"Jack works in law enforcement," Peggy said by way of clarification, lingering at the door as he quickly closed the covers on various files and reports.

"Really?" Lottie said interestedly, still curiously examining the page that she held in her hand. She then raised her gaze to look at Peggy. "How exciting," she said mildly, the corners of her mouth pulling upwards once more as she casually handed the paper to him to put away. She looked pointedly over the two of them, still only half dressed as they stood in the kitchen. "Now, why don't you two -" she cleared her throat delicately, her eyes still sparkling, "- get dressed and we can head straight off."

Somehow, Jack suddenly got the impression that Charlotte Banks née Carter was the kind of woman who nearly always got her way.

"We should have had a cover sorted," he said quietly to Peggy as they ascended the stairs, leaving Lottie happily tidying the kitchen.

"Lottie will have already made her own assumptions," Peggy said, echoing his thoughts from earlier and grimacing slightly. "Finding your clothes downstairs doesn't exactly look innocent," she added; her tone was faintly accusing, but her heart wasn't in it, evidently well aware that the situation wasn't his fault – personally, Jack was inclined to blame Benjy for the whole thing.

"How do we play this?" he wanted to know as they reached the top landing.

Peggy's face fell slightly and she looked unexpectedly vulnerable. "I don't want to lie to my family."

"Don't think of it as lying, think of it as not rocking the boat," he told her, pausing outside his bedroom door. "You don't want them to find out you're a Federal Agent, right?"

Peggy thought for a moment and sighed. "Let Lottie keep her assumptions, lord knows the damage has already been done there, but stick to the truth as much as possible," she ordered him, a frown pulling at her mouth. "There will be consequences from this," she added, almost to herself.

"Yeah ..." Jack agreed, sticking his hands back in his pockets. "I guess we'll deal with that when it comes."

* * *

Over in New York the early morning commuters were just starting their daily bustle. Sick of grabbing a hasty breakfast from the pastry vendor on the street outside the SSR, Daniel had stopped at a diner to shell out the money for a cooked breakfast and a decent cup of coffee for a change. He was sat in one of the booths with his head buried in a SSR file; since Peggy and Jack had left for England several days ago, his workload as acting-Chief had increased dramatically.

"You miss her too, huh?" a feminine voice drawled beside him.

Glancing up from his file, he saw the familiar face of Miss Angie Martinelli, Peggy's friend that they had questioned at The Griffith. She was smiling down at him with a jug of coffee in hand and wearing a waitressing uniform – funny, he had thought that she was an actress, not a waitress.

Realising that she was waiting for a reply, he cast a small smile back at her. "Believe it or not, I actually miss Thompson," he replied, knowing that Angie probably knew all about the goings on within the SSR since she lived with Peggy. He looked down at the file and put his half-empty coffee cup back down on the table. "He's left me in charge and it's … challenging."

Angie looked briefly around the diner and then lowered herself into the seat opposite him. "I've been trying to find my big break on Broadway since I saw my first show at the age of twelve," she told him, leaning across the table slightly. "Just last month I got a supporting role in a tiny backstreet theatre. I'm pulling extra shifts here as well as juggling rehearsals." Her eyes were wide as she nodded slowly at him. "And it's challenging … but a _good_ kind of challenging, you know?"

He understood what she meant; hard work wasn't a bad thing by any means.

"I'll have to come and see you when the show starts," he found himself saying without thinking of his words.

There was a pause, then Angie's face brightened into a wide smile. "You'd do that?" she asked with happy incredulity.

"Yeah, I love the theatre," he said – well, it wasn't entirely a lie. He loved the _idea_ of the theatre but could only remember seeing one play ever in his whole life.

She was positively beaming at him over the table. "It's Angie, by the way," she told him, gesturing to her name-tag and leaning over to refill his coffee cup without being asked.

"Yes, I know," he replied, well aware of who she was.

She smiled at him once more, her gaze bright. "That's your cue to introduce yourself too," she prompted pointedly.

"Daniel, Daniel Sousa," he said instantly, shifting his leg beneath the table slightly as he spoke.

"Nice to meet you, Daniel," Angie said, looking at him with her head tilted slightly to one side.

"We've already met," he reminded her, frowning slightly that she didn't remember.

A laugh bubbled out of her. "You were arresting my best friend at the time, it doesn't count," she chided, grinning widely – her smile was infectious and he found himself smiling back at her. The moment was broken when another customer called her over, after a refill of coffee. "Looks like I gotta go," she said, rising to her feet. She paused beside him, still smiling. "See you around, Daniel."

Maybe shelling out the extra money for breakfast was worth it, he thought to himself as he turned his gaze back to the file.

* * *

"Peggy, he is a _catch_," Lottie whispered proudly to her as the two of them cleaned up after lunch; Lottie was washing the dishes and Peggy was drying them to put away.

"Yes, he is quite something," she agreed mildly, drawing her towel over a plate and not looking at her sister.

Surprisingly, thanks to Lottie's interrogation, she had actually learned more about Jack in the past two hours than the six months they had been working together. He had grown up in the countryside of up-state New York, raised Catholic but not much of a believer nowadays. He had gone to a State school before moving to the city to train to be a lawyer, following in his father's footsteps. He had nearly finished his training when the war broke out and he enlisted in the Navy – Maggie's eyes had widened at that, and she had interrupted the adult's conversation to ask if he was still in the Navy. Jack had laughed and said he now worked in law enforcement. "Not a lot to tell you, sweetheart," he'd said to her niece, who seemed to positively adore him. "I spend most of my day in the office. A lot of desk work, a lot of coffee, nothing exciting."

Charles, Lottie's dull-as-a-brick husband and Peggy's brother in law, had turned the conversation to politics (Jack was a Republican, she was unsurprised to learn) as he lit up his pipe after lunch and Lottie had dragged Peggy off to the kitchen to help her with the clean up.

"Are you being safe?" Lottie wanted to know, speaking softly so that the men wouldn't hear them in the other room.

Peggy frowned at her as she added another dry plate to her stack. "What do you mean?"

"Peg ... his clothes were on your living room floor," Lottie said pointedly, her eyes wide as she looked at Peggy. "Are you two being … you know, _safe_?"

"_Lottie_," she said warningly, feeling her cheeks flush as she realised what her sister was asking, though really it was unsurprising that she had drawn such conclusions given the way she had found them that morning.

"I'm just asking," Lottie said innocently, her tone surprisingly devoid of judgement. "I want to see a ring on that finger because _you_ want it there, not because Daddy pulled out his old Navy gun," she said, handing her a soapy glass to dry. There was a brief pause, then Lottie spoke again. "It must be quite serious though … Do you think he is going to propose?"

"You're incurably romantic, Lottie," Peggy said dryly, neglecting to answer her question – deflection, rather than lying through her teeth, was better in her opinion.

"A blind man could tell that man adores you," she said firmly, then raised her gaze to the ceiling, sighed, and smiled happily to herself. "Peggy Thompson, how _well_ that sounds."

Peggy shot a bemused look at her – truly, she loved her sister dearly, but the two of them were very different. Lottie was happy as a clam in her role as a wife and mother, and had never quite been able to understand why Peggy didn't want the same. "I wouldn't have said our relationship is _quite_ there yet," she told her, years of work in espionage helping her keep her voice level.

Lottie gave her a slightly sly look. "I suppose the two of you are kept rather busy with your work."

Catching the strange note in her voice, Peggy glanced at her.

Her sister smiled, though it was a slightly sad smile. "I'm not stupid, you know, Peg," she told her simply. "I was able to recognise your handwriting all over those papers this morning." She returned her gaze to the bowl of hot, soapy water in front of her. "I don't know exactly what it is that you do for a living, but I do know you didn't work in a radio factory during the war."

Peggy blinked. "... You're right, I didn't," she said slowly, wondering how much her sister guessed, or how much she would be willing to hear before frowning and telling her that her line of work was unsuitable for a woman.

"Mummy!" Maggie said, dashing into the kitchen – her niece was like a miniature version of both her and Lottie, with dark eyes and curly hair. At three years old she was a bright and precocious child, with grass stains beneath the knees on her pretty dress. "Mister Thompson said he would tell me a story about the Navy when a boat got stuck on the rocks," she chirped happily, the childish lisp evident in her voice.

"We'll be right there, Maggie," Lottie called over her shoulder. She glanced curiously at Peggy as she handed her the last of the washed dishes. "Are you happy? Doing … whatever it is that you do?" she wanted to know, her voice lacking censure.

"I am," she admitted honestly, realising that Lottie didn't need or want to know details.

"Mummy, Aunty Peggy, are you coming?" Maggie demanded impatiently from the door, clearly eager to get back to her new favourite person.

"Yes, darling, we're coming," Lottie said, laughing as she dried her hands on Peggy's tea-towel.

Maggie skipped away back into the living room and Peggy and Lottie followed. "I'm just glad you've found someone, I was worried about you being on your own," Lottie said as they entered the living room, where Charles was sitting in his particular chair with baby William on his knee and his pipe in his hand, meanwhile Maggie was dangling off Jack's outstretched arm with her legs swinging a foot from the ground.

Jack looked up as they came in and grinned at them. "... And he does seem like a _real_ catch," Lottie reiterated quietly, smiling widely and happily at the sight.

* * *

"I think your sister could give me a lesson in interrogation tactics," Jack said wryly as they drove away from the house – he felt like nearly every aspect of his life had been questioned and cross examined in the past few hours. Per Peggy's request, he had stuck to the truth as much as possible, glossing over the aspects of their work, but many of the details had been accurate and personal and he had been able to see Peggy's curiosity being piqued as he talked.

It had been touch and go when Lottie had asked them how they had met. He and Peggy had looked at each other over the table, then she had smiled her false smile. "The phone company where I work was defrauded a few months ago. Jack and his team came to investigate," she lied smoothly, giving no details.

"Had to bring Peggy in for questioning," Jack had been unable to resist adding to pad out the story and make it interesting, rocking the boat slightly since it had more than a grain of truth in it.

"You were _arrested_?" Charles Banks, Lottie's husband who seemed completely average and about as interesting as a wooden plank, had asked, clearly scandalised.

"Arrested, not charged," Peggy had replied primly, shooting an annoyed glare at Jack over the table. "It was incorrectly traced back to my station."

"She walked into the interrogation room in handcuffs, walked out with a dinner date," Jack had drawled with a shrug, finding the whole situation far too amusing – Peggy had kicked him under the table and Lottie's bell-like laughter had rung out.

He had actually rather enjoyed himself despite their cover; it had been interesting to see this glimpse into Peggy's life and family. She had her sister were clearly very different but obviously loved each other deeply – he realised mid-way through the meal that his presence had actually helped smooth things over between them since in Lottie's eyes Peggy was close to settling down and that made her happy. Seeing Peggy with her niece and nephew had also been illuminating; despite her role as an Agent and her previous comments that she didn't want to settle down, she clearly loved children. Jack had to confess that he was quite taken with little Maggie, who was the spitting image of Peggy and her mother and had listened to his old war stories with adoration in her eyes, whereas the image of Peggy holding baby William had sent something that felt suspiciously like a _pang_ through him.

"That's nothing compared to when she and my mother get together," Peggy said in response to his comment about interrogation as she drove down the street, pausing to wave briefly at her family.

"That all seemed to go alright though," Jack pointed out when he saw her frowning slightly – though she seemed thoughtful now rather than troubled. He wondered what she was thinking, remembering how worked up she had initially been at the prospect of seeing her sister.

"It did, actually ..." she agreed with a note of surprise in her voice. She then shook her head slightly as if to clear it. "Though if I have to hear one more time how _well_ Peggy Thompson sounds I might put my head through a wall."

Jack chuckled – so _that_ was what she and Lottie had been talking about in the kitchen while he had been left with dull-as-a-brick Charles Banks and his conversation about politics. "To be fair to your sister, Peggy Thompson does have a nice ring to it," he said, grinning wickedly.

Peggy shot him an annoyed glare. "So does Peggy Carter," she said firmly, returning her gaze to the road. "I like my name just as it is, thank you very much."

"Carter-Thompson?" he couldn't resist suggesting, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

"Stop it, this isn't funny," she said sternly, staring straight ahead.

"Yeah, it is," he corrected her, still grinning.

"No its _not_, Jack," she said, the agitation clear in her voice and wiping the smile from his face; it took a lot to shake Peggy, if she was upset about this then he should start taking it seriously. "This isn't a joke, that was me _lying_ to half my family – do you think Lottie won't have been on the phone to our mother the second we left the house?" she put to him, obviously worked up. "They are utterly convinced that we are dating and that was us raising expectations that we -" she cut herself off and shook her head. "It's not funny," she reiterated firmly, her voice catching ever so slightly.

There was a long pause, then Jack spoke again. "Just … tell them that I mucked it up," he said slowly, disliking the idea even as he said it. He couldn't help it - after living with her for the past few days, sleeping beside her the previous night and now partaking in a family meal, he had gotten carried away, forgetting the true nature of their relationship and half believing the lie himself.

Peggy frowned briefly at him before returning her gaze to the road, her gaze inscrutable and her mouth pursed into a line. Reading her obvious displeasure with that idea, he took a deep breath. "Or there is another option," he added, deciding to hell with it and just take a risk.

"Oh?" Peggy asked curiously - then promptly did a double take, glancing at him. "Wait, you're not thinking -"

"Yeah," he said, keeping his tone casual as he watched her response.

There was a slight pause as she glanced at him, then back at the road, then back at him again. "I can't actually tell if you're being serious," she admitted, clearly perplexed.

One corner of Jack's mouth quirked up into a smile at her obvious confusion. "'Course I'm being serious," he told her honestly.

Peggy shook her head slowly, her lips pressed together to hide her amusement in a way that gave him hope. "If that was your idea of asking me out on a date, Thompson, then I have to tell you that you are sorely out of practice when it comes to romancing a woman."

That wasn't a no. "Well, neither of us are what you'd exactly call conventional," he pointed out, then decided to press forward when a small smile briefly broke through her façade. "Dinner?" he asked simply. "I was thinking of checking out the village pub since it's our night off."

She thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly, that small gesture belaying the significance of her acceptance. "Alright," she agreed quietly, still clearly fighting a smile.

Jack blinked, surprised. "Alright?" he questioned, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

"Alright," she reiterated firmly, nodding and glancing at him – Jack, meanwhile, looked out of the passenger window to hide the grin that was slowly spreading over his face.

* * *

The small smile that Peggy had been fighting for half of the journey home vanished when she saw the familiar figure of Benjy leaning against his car outside her house, checking his watch and looking agitated. Getting out of the car, she closed the door behind her with more force than was necessary.

"You are in so much trouble," she told him – just because lunch with Lottie had mostly worked out fine (if the fact that she and Jack were going out on a _date_ this evening was any indication) didn't mean she wasn't still annoyed with her little brother.

"You can murder me later," he retorted instantly, unphased by her anger. "Phillips is calling the two of you in."

"What's the mission?" Jack asked, having followed her from the car.

"Felixstowe docks," Benjy replied instantly. "The files we pulled from the lab last night have left a solid paper trail for where they're getting their materials. Shipment is due in tonight and Phillips suspects someone high up the Zodiac ranks will be checking it all off." Benjy walked around his car to the driver's side, gesturing quickly for them to join him. "Come on, I'm taking you straight to base."

Twenty minutes later the two of them were gearing up in the locker room; Wood, Newman, and Smith were already changed and waiting for them, so once again it was just the two of them in there.

"We're gonna miss that dinner," Thompson pointed out mildly as she laced up her heavy combat boots.

She looked up at him; he was watching her carefully as he fastened the straps on his black fatigue jacket. "Tomorrow night," she said simply, casting a small, reassuring smile up at him.

He nodded once as he slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. "You got it."

* * *

Jack walked stealthily between a row of shipping containers, his gun at the ready. They had found the cargo easily enough, but hadn't banked on the level of protection that Zodiac afforded it, coming face to face with no less than seven armed thugs as well as the supplier they were after. Things had quickly escalated into a fire-fight – the supplier was trying to rabbit and the thugs were still trying to protect the cargo.

Wood and Smith had gone after the supplier while the rest of them attempted to secure the cargo before it could be loaded onto a truck, a difficult task when the thugs had taken cover and rained bullets down upon them.

Determined to flush them out, Jack and Peggy had crept between the containers to quietly deal with them – three were down and they were circling back to meet up with the rest of the team. Jack was on point, while Peggy was in the back watching out for their rear.

Gunshots rang out behind him and he turned with his gun at the ready, his heart in his throat – Jesus, was Peggy okay?

"Incoming!" she shouted as she sprinted around the corner – one of the goons was on her tail and Jack instantly fired past her, taking care of the man before he could even raise his weapon.

Peggy flung herself behind the shipping container opposite him and swore under her breath as she loaded another ammo pack into her gun. Jack, meanwhile, fired around the corner before taking cover once again. The smell of the smoke and the sound of the gunfire were sending his heart stuttering in his chest and causing his adrenalin to spike as flashes of the trenches and heavy artillery fire flickered through him.

But this was just him and Peggy holding the line here. He couldn't – _wouldn't_ – let the memories overwhelm him, dammit.

She needed him.

"Jack, go!" she shouted to him, jerking her head towards the warehouse where the cargo was being kept before breaking cover completely and stepping out from behind the container to aim properly towards where the goons were firing instead of firing blindly around the corner.

"Like hell!" he shouted back, joining her in the line of fire – standing shoulder to shoulder, they were both able to aim better and quickly took care of two more of the goons as they leant haphazardly from their cover to fire wildly at them.

If the pounding footsteps was any indication, the fourth man was running.

"Come on, we need to get back to the cargo," Peggy said as silence fell once more, scarcely even out of breath.

They jogged towards a side door that led to the warehouse, with Jack covering their backs lest the man that had fled fired at them from somewhere. The heavy metal door was locked – Peggy shot several rounds at the lock, mangling it, and then shoved hard at it again. It didn't move.

"Stand back," Jack said, then ran at the door with all his strength, tilting to take the brunt of it on his side. He burst through into the warehouse beyond and pain exploded down his arm as he felt something pop.

Shaking off the pain, he followed Peggy as they headed towards the abandoned truck where the chemical supplies used to make the serum were waiting.

Fifteen minutes later Wood and Smith had joined them with the supplier in handcuffs, whereas Newman turned up with the goon that had attempted to flee unconscious over one shoulder. The supplier, who identified himself as Nigel Parker, was eager to cooperate, already babbling about Zodiac's threats and Levourne as they bought the cars around to take everything back to base.

Jack was sitting to one side on an old oil drum, his arm dangling painfully beside him. He tried to move his shoulder but pain lanced down his arm and chest, making him wince – he was used to simply shaking off injuries sustained in a fight, but suspected now that he had done quite a number on his himself.

"Jack, are you alright?" Peggy said, walking over to him and frowning when she noticed that he wasn't helping load up the crates.

"No, I don't think so," he said tightly, holding his arm at an awkward angle.

"Let me see," she demanded, her frown deepening. Her fingers ran lightly up his arm, over the material of his black fatigues and paused on his shoulder when he winced again. "Your shoulder?"

"Yeah," he confirmed as pain flared up again when he tried to move it.

Peggy's hands moved to the clasps on his jacket and started to carefully undo them. "Let's get this off," she suggested, working her way down the fastenings on his chest.

He hissed in pain as she eased the jacket over his shoulder and down his arm. "I know you're eager to get my clothes off, but ease up a little would you?" he told her, trying not to let on just how tender the injury was. Thankfully, his armoured vest didn't need to come off as well, that would have been painful to pull over his head.

She gave him a disapproving look as she finished assessing his injury, unimpressed with his comment. "Your shoulder is dislocated," she told him plainly.

"I figured as much," he said dully, able to feel the bone out of place.

She lightly took his arm in her hands. "This is going to hurt," she warned him, and he realised that she was going to re-set it right there and then. Well, it made sense, he supposed, a doctor wouldn't do anything differently and it wasn't like she was inexperienced.

"Yeah, I figured that too," he told her, then exhaled a breath and gritted his teeth, preparing himself for the pain that was to come. "Just get on with it."

"On three then?" she suggested gently and he grimly nodded his acceptance. "One -"

She twisted his arm and popped the joint back into place before she even said two.

"Mother of _fu_-" he bit his tongue, turning his expletive into a sharp hiss of pain. That had hurt nearly as much as when he had first done it. He breathed out deeply through his nose, briefly squeezing his eyes closed. "_Jesus_ Carter, I may not know the alphabet but at least I can _damn_ well count," he bit out caustically, the pain making him snap at her as the bone settled back into the socket.

"If I had done it on three you would have tensed and it would be worse," she told him, lightly smoothing her fingers over the patch of bare skin his shoulder beneath his armoured vest, feeling the tender and inflamed skin. "That's going to hurt for several days."

"You're telling me?" he retorted, grateful that the pain had receded to a dull, but acute ache and he could tentatively move his arm again, but with great pain. He jerked his head over towards the cars. "How did we do?" he wanted to know.

Peggy followed his gaze and smiled. "Parker is quite eager to cooperate, something tells me we will be back in New York sooner rather than later," she said, sounding pleased.

"Good, I'd kill for a decent cup of coffee," Jack agreed, climbing off his perch on the oil drum and wincing as the movement jostled his injury.

Peggy's sharp eyes noticed his discomfort. "Come on, there's morphine in the car," she told him as they headed over towards where the crates were still being loaded.

"It doesn't hurt, I'm fine," Jack argued back stubbornly, though honestly he wouldn't mind a reprieve from the pain.

She raised her finely arched brows, clearly not believing him when he said that it didn't hurt, and lightly socked him on the arm with a loose fist. He grunted sharply as pain lanced down from his shoulder once again. "_Dammit_, Peggy," he complained, glaring reproachfully at her, unable to believe she had just done that.

"Morphine," she said sternly, her point apparently proven since he was clearly still in pain.

"Well, it only hurts when you throw a punch at it, woman," Jack muttered mutinously to himself, falling into step behind her.

* * *

Jack woke the next morning to a faint knock on his bedroom door. He was lying on his stomach and, blinking his eyes open, he raised his head from the pillow to squint at the door. Peggy was standing there, immaculately dressed in a blue skirt, a fitted white blouse and red lipstick, smiling slightly at him. "Good morning," she said simply.

"Hey," he replied sleepily, lowering his head back down to the pillow as he frowned at her. He only had a hazy recollection of the long drive home; Peggy had forced a syrette of morphine on him and he had crashed out in the car, the morphine making him sleepy. He had a vague memory of climbing up the stairs and getting into bed still in his armoured vest and combat trousers, but since his boots were neatly placed on the floor he assumed that she had helped him with those at least.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, lingering in the doorway.

He shifted slightly and grimaced in pain – his shoulder felt stiff and ached all over, but it wasn't that bad. "I've had worse," he told her honestly as he sat up cautiously, knuckling sleep from his eye. "I can move it okay, at least."

"I'll fix you up a sling before I go," she offered and he glanced at her, registering that she was wearing her office clothes and heeled shoes. "I'm heading to the office, nothing detail so don't worry," she told him, reading the question in his eyes. "Wood and Newman are handling the questioning so you stay here and rest. I'll just be talking to Phillips."

"What about?" he asked, swinging his legs out of bed so he was sitting on the edge to look up at her - he wanted to go in and help with the questioning, but in all honesty his shoulder hurt and his head still felt a little fuzzy from the morphine. They had been called in yesterday on what was meant to be their first day off in over a week, so he wasn't going to complain about taking a day now.

"Howard arrived from New York this morning," she explained, folding her arms as she lent against the door-frame. "He and Mr Jarvis are swinging by to pick me up at o-eight-hundred."

Jack checked his watch, wincing when the movement tugged on his shoulder, and read that it was only half past seven. "Time for breakfast before you go?" he wanted to know, used to their routine of eating together.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Was that a request or an order, Chief Thompson?" she asked pointedly and he belatedly realised the way he had phrased it made it sound like he was asking her to cook for him.

"Come off it, Carter, I brought you breakfast yesterday," he reminded her, having cooked while they were both hungover from the excessive bourbon they'd consumed.

She shook her head exasperatedly at him and backed down. "Fine, I'll fire up the stove while you get dressed," she ordered, then vanished, closing the door behind her.

Getting dressed was easier said than done – his trousers were easy enough to pull off but the armoured vest gave him some difficulty. Eventually he just had to grit his teeth through the pain and pull it off one-handed over his head. Redressing was fine, though clipping on his suspenders gave him a minute's trouble. By the time he was dressed and heading downstairs, he heard a familiar, drawling American voice in the kitchen.

"- Bacon, eggs, maybe some toasted muffins and a Bloody Mary," Howard Stark was saying to Peggy as she plated up two portions of simple toast and jam. "Whatever is easiest, you know what I like."

She handed the second plate to Jack as he walked in the kitchen, casting a distracted smile at him. "There's food in the fridge, if you're hungry you can make something yourself, Howard," she said simply, as Jack took his seat at the table with his plate, where a cup of coffee was already waiting for him.

Howard Stark was leaning against the counter, immaculately dressed in a clearly expensive, but casual suit with a bow-tie instead of a tie. He raised his brows sardonically as he watched the proceedings. "Never thought I'd see you as a housewife, Peg."

"I would be willing to bet that you came over to England with your butler, chef and maid all in tow," Peggy retorted primly as she took a bite, eating hastily. She was rummaging in the cupboards as she spoke instead of sitting down to eat. "Any one of them can make you breakfast, it certainly isn't my job."

"So you'll cook for Thompson and not for me?" Stark demanded in a drawling and offended voice, shoving his hands in his pockets as he frowned at her.

"Jack made breakfast yesterday, it was my turn to cook," she said simply, echoing his words from earlier. Jack smiled pointedly at Stark around a mouthful of toast, feeling rather smug. She emerged from the cupboard with a small first aid box and, opening it, pulled out a large, white square of material that could be folded into a triangle-sling.

"What happened to you?" Stark wanted to know as she gestured for Jack to give her his arm.

"Dislocated shoulder," he explained briefly, frowning at Peggy. "I can move it fine. I don't need a damn sling, Carter," he told her as she arranged the material around his arm.

"Tough, it will heal quicker if you don't over exert it," she responded, ignoring his protests and looping the ends up around his neck.

Howard appeared to be watching their bickering with some amusement. "Has Phillips mentioned anything about our idea?" he wanted to know as she tied off the sling and picked up her plate to take another bite of toast.

"He's been waiting for you, I assume we will be starting discussions today," she replied around a mouthful.

He nodded once. "If you're not busy this evening I thought we could head somewhere nice for dinner after work," Stark offered casually, his hands still in his pockets. "The Royale down in London has recently employed a new chef - lovely girl, very talented -"

"Jack and I already have dinner plans," Peggy retorted simply, leaving her plate by the sink to be washed later – Jack's smug feeling was growing stronger and stronger by the minute.

There was a moment of silence as Stark looked between the two of them, then a slow smile spread over his face. "… Fondue?" he asked Peggy nonsensically, raising one eyebrow.

Peggy rolled her eyes, apparently understanding his meaningless words perfectly well and growing irate with them. "Enough, Howard," she said sternly, pulling on her jacket. "Are you ready?"

"Jarvis is waiting with the car," he replied, and Peggy gestured for him to go first, saying that she would just be a minute.

She waited until they were alone before speaking to Jack. "Take it easy today, don't strain it," she ordered him, her voice light as she lingered in the kitchen and checked that her gun was in her purse. "I'll be back before dinner and we can head to the pub."

"It's a date," he said, giving her a half-smile as he took a sip of the coffee she'd made.

Peggy smiled at him, her tempting red lips pressed together. "Yes, I suppose it is," she agreed as she left, her shoes clicking with every step.

* * *

**Next up – Peggy has to take a raincheck on that dinner … :/**

**Thanks to #dontbesillywefall and #cravinghoneydukes for proofing – and thank you to all of you for your awesome reviews - keep 'em coming! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

The morning was taken up by discussions between Peggy, Howard, and Colonel Phillips in his office at the Bletchley base; all three of them were on board regarding their idea of a global intelligence organisation and now was the time to hammer out the details. The proposed organisation would be built using the SSR itself as its foundation, expanding and developing it to greater heights and wider parameters.

Peggy smiled to herself as they talked: as one of the founders of the proposed organisation she would technically become Jack's boss – she wondered what he would have to say about that.

She couldn't help but think of the date they would be going on later that evening, wondering not for the first time why she had decided to say yes when he had asked her out. Lunch with Lottie had made her realise that there were so few people in the world with whom she was truly open, who she was able to fully be herself around. She could not imagine dating someone who did not know about her work, having to hide information as she had initially done in her budding friendship with Angie, but Jack knew every detail. He was undeniably an arse at times, but since they had started working together to root out the mole and track Zodiac he had not made any attempt to hold her back and they made a surprisingly good team.

A part of her was wary to risk their new dynamic by adding a potential romance to the mix but she rationalised to herself that it was just a date, a way to dip her toe in the water, and if it didn't work out then fine, no harm done.

But, thinking of the way he had kissed her in La Martinique when he hadn't realised that the whole thing had been a cover, she had decided that it was a risk she was willing to take.

Their meeting was disrupted by Agent Newman knocking on the office door. "Sorry to interrupt, chaps," he said, poking his head around the door. "But I thought you would want to hear this ..."

It turned out that Nigel Parker had been particularly informative – he didn't know an exact location or coordinates, but he knew that the supplies came by rail from Austria before being shipped to England. That had narrowed their field significantly; they knew that there was an old HYDRA base hidden somewhere in the Austrian mountains alongside a railway track, near to where they had caught Zola and Sergeant Barnes had fallen to his death, but they had never found it after the war.

Considering that Zodiac was a splinter group of HYDRA, it was likely that was where they would find Levourne since they had already surmised that he had probably left England for Europe – and if the base was active, there would be activity for them to track back to the elusive building itself.

"Gear up," Phillips ordered her brusquely as Newman finished his account, putting their negotiations and discussions on a halt for the day. "You're leading the team – strictly recon, Carter, we don't know what we're getting ourselves into."

* * *

Jack was sitting at the table in Peggy's small kitchen with his third cup of coffee of the day, pouring over the files on the Zodiac case to see if there was anything they had missed. Given that the supplies were being shipped in to Felixstowe, a port on the lower east coast of England, it was likely that they were coming from Europe, so he was looking into any and all ties that they had managed to uncover linking Levourne to the continent. He was just taking a sip from his mug when the front door burst open, startling him to his feet and making him instantly go for his gun.

"Jack?" he heard Peggy call from the hallway.

"In here," he replied, wondering what she was doing back already. She quickly entered the kitchen and he saw that she was wearing her combat gear. Her curled hair was practically tied back out of the way and a rifle was slung over her shoulder – he was well used to seeing her in fatigues, but given that she was still wearing the immaculate make up that she had donned for the office that morning, she looked almost like an Army pin-up straight from any GI's fantasy.

He frowned deeply, knowing full well that she was in combat gear for a reason. "Where are you going?" he asked, holstering his gun.

"Austria," she said simply, staring at him with her dark impenetrable eyes.

And he would not be going with her, that was obvious enough with his injured shoulder.

"Parker was very eager to cooperate," she continued when he didn't reply, still looking at him intently. "We have a possible location for a base and there is a good chance Levourne is there. Negotiations have been put on hold ... Phillips wants me leading the team," she finished, slowly walking forwards so that she was standing right in front of him.

Jack shifted his feet awkwardly and leant back against the counter behind him. "... Looks like we're gonna need another raincheck on that dinner then," he drawled, shoving his free hand in his trouser pocket while the other was still strapped in the sling she had forced on him that morning. He was doing his best to hide how conflicted he was – on one hand he knew that she was perfectly capable of leading a mission without him, but on the other he desperately wanted to be there with her.

She nodded slowly, pressing her lips together, and he couldn't quite read her expression – she didn't seem pleased or relieved to be postponing their date though, that much was obvious.

"You're heading straight out?" he asked somewhat rhetorically since she was in fatigues with a rifle slung over the top – _dammit_, he wanted to be going too, he didn't like this one bit.

She nodded again and took a deep breath. "We're on our way to the hanger now," she explained in a clipped voice, evidently having swung by the house on her way out to tell him about the mission. "It's strictly recon, so no need to worry."

"Easier said than done," Jack retorted, trying to make light of the situation to hide his disquiet, though in all honesty he _was_ relieved to know that it would unlikely be a fire-fight.

It now looked like he now had a lonely, stressful night of worrying about her ahead of him though - certainly be a far cry from what he'd had planned. In a village as small is this their date wouldn't have been anything extravagant: a simple meal at the pub, a few drinks and then back home, maybe putting some records on and enjoying a nightcap, but he had still been looking forward to it.

He tried to tell himself that a raincheck was a good thing, now he would be able to take her out in New York instead – she didn't like swing music, but he knew a couple of low-key jazz clubs she might like. One of them even had a pool table, he could watch as she smoked the regulars and hustled them free drinks.

A car horn sounded from outside and Peggy glanced briefly over her shoulder towards the front door. "I have to go," she said regretfully. "... I'll see you tomorrow, Jack."

"Carter," he said without thinking as she made to turn away – she looked back at him and he decided_ to hell with it_.

Grasping the strap of her rifle, he pulled her close and simply kissed her.

She seemed surprised, but kissed him back instantly. He couldn't help the heady feeling in his chest - this was the first time they had kissed, _properly_ kissed, not for a cover or a mission, and she was actually kissing him _back_. Her hands came up to fist in the material of his shirt, hindered slightly by the sling that he still wore, and she parted her lips beneath his as she drove his back against the counter.

The horn sounded outside again, longer and more impatient this time, and she instantly broke away, detangling her hands from his shirt. "I have to go," she said, her voice husky and breathy.

He didn't reply, keeping a firm grip on the strap of her rifle as he leant forward to press his forehead against hers with his eyes closed. "Jack, I have to go," she repeated, her breath fanning out on his mouth due to their proximity.

He nodded and drew back, pausing to brush an errant curl behind her ear. Jesus, he wanted to tell her just how damn much he cared about her - tell her to be careful, tell her that she had to come back – but he couldn't find the words. "Play it safe, alright?" he settled on saying, trying not to make it sound too much like an order as his fingertips lingered lightly on the side of her face.

She nodded her understanding, leant forward to press another quick, darting kiss to his mouth, and then she was gone.

* * *

Approximately three hours later, Peggy was lying on a ridge above a small Austrian town situated high in the hills before the mountains, gazing out with a set of binoculars. Even at a glance it was clear to see that the entire area was deserted; doors of homes stood open, several windows were smashed, and there was a twisted bicycle lying in one of the streets.

She shook her head, lowering the binoculars. "I don't like this," she said, knowing that something big had to have happened to cause the people of the town to flee and they were only a team of four. "We should pull back, call for reinforcements before attempting any recon," she told Newman, who was crouched beside her. Behind her, she heard Wood and Smith approaching, having been guarding their rear while they looked out over the town.

"Too late for that," a vaguely accented European voice said, followed by the sound of the safety being clicked off a gun.

Instantly going for her rifle as she turned, she was appalled to see Agents Wood and Smith standing with their hands behind their heads. No less than ten armed and uniformed men stood behind them, two of them covering the disarmed Agents while the others had their guns trained on her.

"Lower your weapons," the one who had initially spoken added, staring down the barrel of his gun at her. "Do it, now!"

Newman instantly obeyed, but Peggy kept her gun up, thinking quickly – they were outnumbered, that much was obvious, and she could see no way out of the situation if she chose to engage. Perhaps if Newman hadn't given up his gun they would have had a chance, shooting the men covering the other Agents, who would then be free to fight and acquire a gun themselves, but he had hastily dropped his gun when he had seen Wood and Smith disarmed. When she made no move to lower her own weapon, one of the men covering Agent Wood pressed his gun harder into the back of his head, causing him to lean forward slightly and squeeze his eyes closed.

"Carter," Newman said softly from beside her, his own hands already submissively behind his head as his gun was snatched up by one of the uniformed thugs.

Bitterly resigning herself to capture, she lowered her weapon and allowed the gun to be taken from her.

One of the men forced her hands behind her back, tying them, while their leader looked over the four of them. "Take anything of use: weapons, ammo packs, knives," he ordered his men as they were patted down. He then ran his gaze up and down Peggy's body and jerked his chin at her. "We'll bring her back to base with us … Kill the others," he added coldly.

Peggy's lips parted in abject shock, wishing now that she had fought despite the overwhelmingly uneven odds, but a bag was shoved over her head before she could say a word, sending the world into darkness.

She heard three sudden gun shots ringing out through the forest, instantly silencing the struggles and protests of her team. She gritted her teeth, knowing that they had been killed, and squeezed her eyes closed as she instinctively tested her bonds.

She felt the hot barrel of a gun that had just been fired being pressed to her back, forcing her to walk blindly forwards. _I'm so sorry, Jack,_ she thought to herself as she was taken away.

* * *

Evening was approaching and Jack was half considering going to the pub alone for a drink to calm his nerves (he couldn't stop thinking about Peggy being out on a mission) when the front door burst open for the second time that day.

"Thompson?" Benjy called, his voice frantic. "Thompson, are you here?"

"What? What's wrong?" he wanted to know, springing to his feet and quickly going to the hall, where Benjamin Carter was standing in front of the open door. He was white as a sheet, his glasses slightly askew and his hair a mess, as if he had run his hands through it – something had happened, that much was clear. "Benjy, what's wrong?" he asked again, his voice dire as a hundred possibilities ran through his mind.

"They - they missed the rendezvous point," Carter said, his voice coming out in a faint croak as he stared at him and making Jack's heart clench in his chest at the news. "Peggy and the team. They're … missing in action."

* * *

"_You_ are not supposed to be here," Phillips said sternly as Jack stalked into his office at the Bletchley base, not even looking up from the radio that he was fiddling with and holding the headset up to one ear to listen to the static. Howard Stark was standing beside him, his arms folded uncomfortably over his expensive suit as he watched the proceedings.

"What's going on?" Jack wanted to know, desperately hoping that they'd had some news beyond what Benjy had told him.

Phillips didn't reply, didn't even look up, his heavily lined face frowning down at the radio.

"We've lost all contact," Stark told him bleakly as the silence dragged on, his drawling voice lacking its usual sardonic bite.

"Are you sending a team out to look for them?" Jack demanded, wanting to know what had been done to recover them.

"They were out on a reconnaissance mission," Phillips said, straightening up. "Failure to meet the rendezvous point implies hostiles so we aren't going in blind again," he said, all business as he turned to face him for the first time. "We will send a plane to sweep the area and if that proves fruitful we'll put a team together -"

"That's not good enough," Jack snarled, unable to believe that they were going to do nothing when God only knew what had happened to Peggy - to the whole team - out there. Realising that he had to keep his cool, he purposefully lowered his voice to a more respectful level and raised his good hand slightly, entreating Phillips. "They've only been MIA for an hour or so, to assume hostiles -"

"Thompson," Phillips said, letting his name hang in the air for a second, his stern and heavily lined face utterly unimpressed and immovable. "I have known Peggy Carter since she was a _cadet_, do not make the mistake of thinking that you are the only one in this room who cares for her," he stated heavily, his voice full of the stern intractability of a commander who has lost soldiers before. Stark shifted slightly on his feet, looking down at the floor with a deep frown. "But I have potentially lost four good Agents on what should have been a simple recon mission. We don't even have coordinates for the base, so we are not going in half-cocked again," the Colonel said, then turned back to the radio dismissively. "And if you have a problem with that then you are free to leave."

Recognising that arguing was futile, Jack clenched his hands into fists, turned on his heel, and walked out of the office.

The door swung shut behind him and he stood in the empty corridor for several long seconds, breathing quickly and utterly unsure what to do.

"_Dammit_," he said caustically under his breath, feeling completely powerless. He stalked over to where there was a phone on a small secretary desk, picking it up and dialling a familiar number. It rang three times, the long wait only adding to his tension.

"Sousa," Daniel said as he answered the Chief's phone back in the New York office, his voice crackling slightly down the line.

"You said that Zola had a possible location, right?" Jack demanded in a low voice, not bothering with the niceties.

"Thompson?" Sousa said, sounding surprised to find Jack calling him. He heard papers being briefly shuffled around, then he spoke again. "Uh, yeah he said that he had precise coordinates – why, what's going on?" he wanted to know.

"He wants to play scientist, _fine_," Jack ordered sharply down the phone, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door that lead to Phillips' office. "We will get him out of prison, keep him under house arrest - curfew, full regulations, the works. Tell him we'll set him up with a lab – hell, I'll even buy him a chemistry set for Christmas - but you _get_ those coordinates, do you understand?"

"Jack," Sousa said, evidently trying very hard to stay calm in the wake of Jack's tirade since they had all agreed that they would not make a deal with the former HYDRA scientist unless they had no other choice. "What's going on?"

There was a pause as Jack looked down at the floor and swallowed once. "Peggy is MIA," he admitted eventually, biting out the words with difficulty – as if saying it made it true. He heard the small _puh_ of Sousa's shocked breath in the phone's reciever. "How quickly can you get to the penitentiary?" he wanted to know.

"Forty-five minutes," Daniel answered instantly, all business despite the tremor in his voice.

Jack nodded and checked his watch. "I expect good news from you in less than an hour," he said brusquely, then put the phone down without so much as another word.

* * *

Peggy estimated that they had walked for well over two miles before she was shoved in what was most likely the back of a truck, unable to see due to the bag over her head. They then drove for about twenty minutes on winding roads, during which time she tested her bonds and made a mental catalogue of all the items that she still had on her that could potentially be of use. When the truck stopped there was a brief pause, then she was hauled out of the back and pushed to walk once more – based on the cool air and the perfectly even floor beneath her feet, she guessed that they were inside HYDRA's mountain base.

The bag was pulled off her head and she blinked, instantly adjusting to the changing light and taking in her surroundings. They were in a narrow corridor that contained half a dozen barred cells, all of which were empty.

"The SSR does not negotiate, I will not be your hostage," she said assertively as they undid the bonds holding her hands behind her back, trying to get a response from them in order to better understand the position she was now in and make an escape plan.

"You're not a hostage, we aren't going to be ransoming you," one of the uniformed men said almost lightly, his accent European. He opened the door to one of the cells while his partner covered Peggy with his gun, lest she try anything. "I'll put this simply: we were out provisioning ... you're a provision," he said with a smirk, slapping her backside hard to push her into the cell.

Peggy stared at them in cold, grim silence as they locked her in and left her alone – then she smiled weakly to herself.

They had made a _big_ mistake in untying her hands.

* * *

Jack was in the locker room of Bletchley, changing into tactical gear and swearing under his breath as each movement sent pain lancing down from his shoulder. He already had his combat trousers and boots on, the two easiest items to don with his injury, and was struggling with his armoured vest when the door opened to reveal Howard Stark.

"Thought I'd find you in here," he drawled, looking at him with his chin lowered and his hands in his pockets of his expensive jacket as the door swung shut behind him. "What are you going to do, storm the base yourself?"

"If I have to," Jack grunted in reply, forcing the titanium-alloy vest over his head with some difficulty and starting on the fastenings.

"Look, pal," Stark said, sounding for all the world like he was about to try and talk him out of his plan. "Peg is one of my closest friends in the world and I'm not saying nothing should be done - but you've gotta realise that going in alone is suicide."

Jack didn't even look up at him, the fastenings beneath his injured shoulder almost giving him enough trouble for him to consider going without the vest altogether despite the protection it provided. "You got a better idea?" he wanted to know.

"Yeah," Stark said plainly, making Jack glance quickly up at him. The American playboy was still slouching with his hands in his jacket as he hovered beside the door, but his gaze was sharp and intent. "Let me make a few calls ... I still have some friends in the 107th," he said in a dry voice, then he tilted his head thoughtfully to one side. "Now that I think about it, Timothy Dugan owes me a favour from that day in Warsaw, so getting him on board won't be a problem."

Jack was staring at him in complete surprise, his fingers frozen on the fastenings. "... Thanks," he said simply, unable to believe that Stark was offering him the God-damn _107__th_ as a tactical team for this utterly unauthorised, possibly suicidal, half-planned mission. He'd fought with them in Russia when they had stormed that Leviathan training facility – they were tough bastards, every one of them, and Peggy's friends to boot.

He couldn't imagine anyone better beside him for this mission.

"Anything else I can do?" Stark asked, rocking forward on his toes slightly.

"Yeah," Jack said dryly, looking down as he reached for his fatigue jacket, pulling it on and gritting his teeth at the wave of pain – _Jesus_, he needed to find painkillers of some kind, in the state is was in at the moment he was not mission capable. "Find me a way to Austria."

"Well," Stark said musingly, making him glance up once more – he had been being rhetorical when he had asked, fully intending to drive to the hanger they'd initially landed at when they'd arrived from New York and press-gang one of the pilots into taking him, possibly by gun point if necessary. "... I do have a plane," he offered casually.

* * *

**Next up – the Howling Commandos ...**

**Thank you to #cravinghoneydukes and#dontbesillywefall for proofing for me, and THANK YOU for all your awesome reviews - keep them coming, guys! :D**


	11. Chapter 11

Sooner than he had thought possible, Jack and Howard Stark were flying over to Austria with the coordinates that Sousa had given him, having no difficulty whatsoever acquiring them from Zola. It was a small but luxurious plane that had the Stark emblem on its tail and an open cock-pit, meaning that he could talk to Stark as they flew – not that the two of them had much to talk about. This was the first time they had ever been in each other's company for any long period of time without Peggy there as mediator or an imminent disaster to diffuse the tension.

Jack had to hand it to him though, Stark clearly knew his trade as an engineer. He seemed utterly at home in the cock-pit; he'd thrown a leather jacket over his expensive suit and didn't care about the heavy head-set ruining his immaculately styled hair. He was talking into the mouthpiece and Jack was able to catch enough of the conversation to gather that he was arranging a rendezvous point with the 107th.

"The 107th are meeting us at an airstrip a couple of clicks from the coordinates," Stark said in his usual drawling voice over his shoulder as he cut off the conversation. "I'll land and drop you there, then head straight back."

"You're not staying?" Jack asked, having to shout slightly over the noise of the engine.

"I need to get back," he replied, sounding vaguely repentant of the fact. "Phillips is going to have my head as it is – not that he can actually do anything to me, of course, but considering we are going to be working together for the foreseeable future, I don't want to poke the bear with a stick." Stark glanced over his shoulder at him as he flew the plane. "You do realise that if this goes TARFU you'll be out of a job, right?" he called over the rumbling and noise of the propellers.

"If this goes _TARFU _I'll have bigger things to worry about," Jack retorted acidly, recognising the military slang for what it was and wondering if Stark was taking this whole thing entirely seriously.

Stark blinked once and returned his gaze to the vast sky outside of the front windows. "... Yeah," he agreed in a voice that caught slightly, making Jack regret snapping at him – just because he had tried to find a bit of humour in the situation didn't mean he didn't care. Peggy had told him that Howard was one of her only friends in the world; friendship went both ways and, despite the numerous socialites linked to Stark in the papers, he didn't seem to have anyone that he was close to either.

Heaving a deep sigh, he grabbed the small box that Benjy had pressed on him before leaving. Inside was a small syrette of clear liquid – Benjy had told him before he left that it was a slight variant of morphine, it would numb the pain in his shoulder completely for a few hours without causing drowsiness. The only downside was that with no pain he was likely to aggravate the injury even further and it would be even worse, with a longer recovery time, once the drug wore off.

Well, if it had him mission-capable for the next few hours he would take the extra pain with a smile and thank Benjy with a beer when they got back to England.

The rest of the flight was spent mostly in silence and they touched down on a small airstrip near the Austrian mountains. As they taxied to a halt, Jack was able to catch a glimpse of two RVs, with the Commandos loitering beside them.

"Hey Thompson," Stark said as Jack stood, hefted his gun, and sharply pressed the button to open the plain doors with a closed fist. "... Bring her home, alright?" he said, seemingly hesitant of what to say.

Equally unsure of how to respond, Jack simply nodded once, his jaw clenched tightly, and left the plane.

The 107th was evidently waiting for him, all of them looking mission ready in dark tactical gear and an array of weapons. Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan was standing slightly forward of the group, watching him leave the plane with one hand resting casually on the butt of his gun – he had been jovial and good-humoured on their last mission, but now his face seemed grim beneath the rim of his bowler hat.

"Thompson," he said, holding out his hand for Jack to shake, much as he had done when they'd left Russia. "Good to see you, pal."

"You too," Jack admitted, honestly grateful for his tactical team. "Wish it was different circumstances."

"Yeah," the larger man agreed heavily. "What do you know so far?"

"Not a lot beyond what Stark told you," he reported, having heard much of Stark's side of the conversation on the plane. "Bletchley lost contact soon after the team dropped. Zola gave us coordinates for a base, so that's where we're heading."

Gabe Jones, who was standing slightly back from Dugan, frowned deeply. "Zola?" he asked, his voice ringing with anger.

"That bastard, must have been where he was heading when Barnes fell," another of the men whom he hadn't met before, but instantly recognised as Jim Morita from the war-time newsreels, said bitterly.

Dugan nodded his agreement, hefting his gun. "We'd best get moving, then," he said, then punched Jack familiarly on his injured arm.

He winced slightly - visibly - and the 107th all looked at him.

"I'm fine," he said stoically; he'd only just taken the painkiller before leaving the plane, wanting it to last the duration of the mission, and it hadn't fully kicked in yet.

Dugan gave him a careful look, then he nodded once. "Come on," he said, gesturing towards where the RVs were waiting with the engines running.

* * *

Peggy waited quietly in her cell for well over an hour, listening to the comings and goings of the people in the building. Thus far, she had heard less than fifteen different voices speaking a varied mixture of European languages, but primarily English. The majority of the conversations she overheard were coming from a room at the end of the corridor, where two guards were stationed. She knew that would be her first port of call, necessary if she was to acquire a weapon and not instantly raise the alarm.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the route that they had taken to bring her from the truck to the cells, reversing it in her head to plan her way back – but it was no good, there had been too many corners.

She would just have to wing it.

A grim smile pulled at her mouth as she suddenly remembered one of Steve's favourite battle tactics – simply knocking on the front door of a HYDRA base with plenty of explosives and the Commandos at his back. But she couldn't just acquire a weapon and then go out guns blazing, she needed to be smarter than that if she was going to get out of here alive.

So, first would have to break out of the cell, incapacitate the guards, and arm herself. Next, she would have to find a radio or a communication point to send a message to Bletchley. Then, depending on the amount of hostiles she encountered and the layout of the base, she would either make her escape; hide and wait for reinforcements; or, as Steve would have put it, give them hell.

Deciding that she had waited long enough, she partially unzipped her fatigue jacket and grabbed the small brooch that she had pinned to her slip beneath her armoured vest; it was the same one she had used to try and pick the lock on Daniel's desk drawer and, with some jimmying in the keyhole, she was quickly able to pick the simple lock on the cell.

Untying her hands had been their first mistake; not properly searching her had been their second.

She had a very small and basic med-kit in one of the large pockets of her fatigues that they hadn't taken from her. Pulling out a long cotton bandage, she slowly unravelled it and held it taunt between her hands as she crept down the corridor – it was better than no weapon at all. She could use it to catch peoples arms as they swung at her or even as a garrotte.

The two guards were relaxing in the room, playing cards and smoking to pass the time, their guns resting casually against the wall. Sizing up her marks, Peggy took a deep breath before engaging them without warning. The first man was instantly knocked unconscious when she slammed his head into the table, but the second gave her more trouble – she punched him in the jaw before he could call out and, as he made to swing at her in retaliation, caught his arm up in the bandage and used it to twist him and throw him down to the floor, knocking him out with a final blow to the temple.

She listened carefully for a moment to see if there was any sign of an alarm being raised, but there was no sound.

A few minutes later the unconscious guards were bound and gagged in one of the cells and Peggy was walking away with a rifle in her hands, a second weapon slung over her back, and numerous ammo-packs on her belt. She had been lucky enough to find a map with the base marked on it in the guard room as well, taking the time to plot her coordinates to pass on to Bletchley.

Peggy stealthily walked down the corridors, her newly-acquired gun at the ready, stopping and keeping to the shadows several times when she heard voices or footsteps up ahead. She eventually found herself in a large warehouse type room that contained several cryo-tubes, all of them empty save for the one at the far end of the row, and a console at the far end. She glanced at the occupied cryo-tube as she passed it - the glass was too frosted over to make out features, though she could deduce that the person Zodiac had frozen had dark hair.

But she wasn't there to rescue prisoners, the poor bastard would have to wait.

Hurrying to the console, she was quickly able to patch into a radio frequency. She paused for a moment, thinking hard – she didn't have time for any kind of fancy code and there was a good chance Zodiac would notice the change in the frequency and her presence would be discovered.

Sticking to simple morse code, she typed out a simple message.

_ Carter. 47.03N, 11.82W. Team down. Immediate back up requested._

* * *

"Bought you a present," Dugan said casually, moving over to Jack's side of the RV once they were moving.

"I'm touched," Jack replied in a sardonic drawl, not looking up for a moment from where he was double checking his ammo-pack was ready in his gun – once he did glance up, he saw that Dugan was holding a standard issue chopper out to him.

"From my own private weapons stash, got it at the Battle of Azzano," the man explained, jerking his chin at the weapon as Jack took the gun and tested the weight – it felt familiar in his hand, much like the kind of thing they'd had in Japan. "It's a sub-machine gun, a M1928A1 – nicknamed the Thompson." A small grin appeared beneath the moustache. "Thought it would suit you."

"Thanks, but why?" Jack asked curiously as he tested down the sight, getting a feel for the lines of the gun. It wasn't like he didn't already have his rifle slung over his shoulder and several ammo-packs on his belt, he didn't need another weapon.

"You froze up on our last mission," Dum Dum said, his voice devoid of accusation or censure. Jack glanced swiftly up at him and swallowed hard - but found the heavy-set man's eyes to be filled with understanding. "Flashbacks?" he asked in a quiet, gravelly voice so that the others wouldn't hear.

"Yeah ..." Jack admitted slowly, then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he grimaced. "First time I had been in a heavy fire-fight since I got back," he explained somewhat bitterly, his voice a quiet mutter.

Dugan nodded, still watching him carefully from beneath the rim of his hat. "The way Peg told it, you were doing just fine until you had to reload," he said plainly, his tone matter of fact.

Jack gave a small, half nod, remembering how his fingers had suddenly felt clumsy and heavy when he'd clicked his empty ammo-pack out in the middle of the fight, how the gunfire had suddenly sounded even louder in his ears and the heavy, metallic smell of the smoke had filled his lungs.

"This baby can fire a couple of hundred rounds per minute, so no fussing around with ammo-packs in the middle of a fight," Dugan said, nodding down at the gun resting comfortably in Jack's hands. "She's standard issue, nothing fancy - but why mess with a classic, right?" he added with an easy smile.

"Thanks," Jack said simply, genuinely, nodding his head once to convey his gratitude.

Happy Sam leant over the partition, where he had been sitting in the front seat with a radio in his lap and a headset held up to his ear, fiddling with it. "Phillips is on the line," he told them, listening to something through the headset. "Carter made contact."

"She did?" Jack asked sharply, jerking his head up to look at Happy Sam.

He nodded, still listening and jotting something down on a notepad. "We've got confirmed coordinates for the base, same as the ones Zola gave," he said, then grimaced slightly and held the headset out to Jack. "... He wants to talk to you."

Jack briefly wet his lips with his tongue, then held the headset up to his ear – from his seat beside him, Dugan would no doubt be able to hear every word that was said. "Sir," Jack said simply, letting Phillips know that he was there and listening.

"Agent Thompson, you are absent without leave," the Colonel said in a brusque, authoritative voice that crackled over the radio, his tone allowing for no nonsense whatsoever. "You will report back to Bletchley -"

"Stuff it, Phillips," Jack said sharply, unable to believe that he was being ordered home – then remembered belatedly that he was speaking to his superior, the Director of the SSR itself, and that he wasn't calling the shots here. He purposefully lowered his voice to a more respectful level and tried again. "We are two clicks from the base. You know damn well that it would have been hours before we could get a team over and by then it would have been too late."

There was a brief pause. "Dugan," Phillips said, evidently no longer addressing him.

"Sir," Dum Dum said in turn.

"You have command," Phillips ordered simply, his voice dry and drawling. "Whether or not Agent Thompson joins you is your call, though I warn you that with his injury he is _not_ cleared for duty."

Dugan glanced at him and nodded. "Understood."

"You will take that base by whatever means necessary," Phillips continued, his tone harsh and unyielding. "I am not interested in prisoners."

"Roger that," Dugan confirmed.

"Agent Thompson," Phillips' voice said from the radio once more.

"Sir," Jack said again, keeping his voice level and not losing his cool this time.

"When you return to England you and I are going to have a long conversation that you will not enjoy," the Colonel threatened.

"Well, won't that be fun," Jack drawled back, assuming that this meant he was no longer Chief and top-dog of the New York branch, if he even had a job at all.

"Report back when you have news," Phillips ordered as the radio crackled. "Over and out."

There was another long pause as Dugan handed the headset back to Happy Sam.

"I think I'm fired," Jack admitted with a grimace, not entirely sure how to feel about that - he had worked so damn hard to get to where he was in the SSR. Others might have complained that he was always given the good cases, and sure, maybe the Navy Cross came into it slightly, but the fact was that he had largely earned them and his promotions through hard work and proving himself competent.

And now all of that might be taken away from him – but almost all he could think about was the fact that Peggy had made contact, that she was alright.

Dugan laughed, surprising him slightly. "Commandos can always use fighters," he told him with a grin as he fed ammo into the barrels of his shotgun, "Hell, anyone that's got the balls to tell Phillips to 'stuff it' is alright in our book - you've got to have a nickname though, it's the rule."

A grin broke through Jack's scowling features and he shook his head slightly as the RV started to slow down. "I'll leave that for you to come up with," he deferred, thinking that Ramirez would just about blow his top with jealousy if he found out that Jack had been offered to join the _Goddamn_ Howling Commandos.

"Hey," Dugan said seriously as they hefted their weapons, the slowing vehicle indicating that they were reaching the coordinates. "You gonna be alright?" he wanted to know, nodding his head at Jack's shoulder.

He shrugged, no longer able to feel the pain thanks to the drug Benjy had given him. "I'm on pain meds," he explained briefly, confident that he was mission-capable. "I can barely feel a damn thing on that side, but I can fire a gun just fine."

Dugan grinned and snapped his shotgun closed. "Well, that's good enough for me," he said, pumping his gun once to load the ammo. "Let's move out!"

* * *

The alarm had rung out through the building scant seconds after Peggy had sent the transmission – she knew that would likely be the case, it hadn't been a secure channel and morse code was easily crackable, but she had hoped for more time. With her gun poised, she slipped back past the cryo-tubes and into the corridor, trying to make her way out of the base. She instantly ran into four men on their way down to the cells where she'd been kept and quickly dealt with them before they had even drawn their weapons, cursing the loud gunfire that instantly gave away her position.

Keeping her eyes open for an exit or escape route, she ran stealthily down several corridors, pausing to hide from armed thugs several times as they dashed past, then stopped when she heard voices ahead of her round a corner, which led to another large warehouse.

"The bitch gave them our coordinates, we'll have the SSR breathing down out necks in no time," a voice that she recognised as Gregory Levourne from the night she and Jack had staked out his mansion said. "Full evac, your priority is to get the cryo-tube out. He may have been Zola's, but he is the only subject that hasn't reacted adversely -"

His words were cut off by two sudden gunshots – and Peggy gasped sharply in pain as the bullets hit her from behind, one burying itself in her thigh, the other hitting her on her lower back.

She instinctively dove for cover around the corner as more gunshots rung out, biting back curses at the pain. Her armoured vest had taken the brunt of one of the bullets, but the one in her thigh would trouble her. Taking cover behind a stack of crates, she pressed a hand to the bleeding wound, applying pressure and gritting her teeth at the pain as bullets flew overhead. The bullet had missed her femoral artery – thank God – but it had likely nicked the lower part of her lateral artery, which was almost as bad.

But bleeding out would be the least of her worries if she didn't keep these bastards at bay.

Breaking cover, she took aim over the top of the crates and fired at the men, forcing them to keep their heads down and not advance on her any further.

She heard Levourne laugh. "Give it up, Agent," he called in a taunting voice. "You can't take this base alone."

An explosion rung out on the other side of the building, followed by a familiar, deep "_Wahoo_!" and the sound of more gunshots.

Peggy's breath whooshed out of her - she wasn't alone.

* * *

Jacques Dernier had quickly done what he did best as the Commandos Demolition Specialist and an explosion echoed out across the mountains as a huge hole was blown in the side of the old HYDRA base. Jack kept low to the ground as they ran towards their opening, firing at any of the Zodiac guards in their black uniforms that poured out of the building, the gun Dum Dum had given him sitting easily in his hands. He was vaguely aware of Dugan beside him as they stormed the base, pumping his shotgun and shouting "_Wahoo_!" as he fired wildly.

Following Phillip's orders, they took no prisoners and fired to kill on any hostiles that they saw. They quickly made their way through the base, pausing as they entered a large, hanger-type room that contained a console and several cryo-tubes. The massive doors at the far end were open and an open-topped jeep with another cryo-tube in the back was speeding towards them – Jack shot out their tyres, which screeched as they skidded, but the jeep kept driving out of the base.

He raised his gun again, aiming for the driver, and then realised that they were too far out – so he let them go, knowing that they had other things to worry about.

They heard more gunshots ahead, coming from a part of the building that they hadn't penetrated yet, and made their way towards it.

Sprinting around a corner, he saw Peggy crouched behind a stack of crates, firing competently over the top of them and then ducking down to grab another ammo-pack. "Peggy!" he shouted, running forwards and throwing himself behind the crates with her as more gunshots rang out.

She was looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, her hand stained red with blood as she pressed it to her thigh. "What the _bloody_ hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her gaze flicking to his injured shoulder before returning to his face.

"I heard you were MIA, did you really expect me to just sit in England?" he retorted quickly, risking a glance over the top of the crates and firing a few shots himself, though the Commando's were largely keeping them busy. "Are you alright?" he checked, since she hadn't moved since she had taken cover again.

"No," she said, but the word scarcely registered with him as another explosion – this one from the bad guys, who had found a grenade, rang out, nearly deafening them. Risking another look over the crate, he saw more uniformed troops approaching – the Commandos needed their help.

"We've got incoming," he told her, firing over the top of the crate.

She still didn't move and he frowned down at her. "Get up, Carter," he said, and, when she still made no motion to get up, then crouched back down behind their cover so that his face was level with hers. "Come on, get your arse into gear," he said, pointedly using the very same words that she had once said to him.

"Jack," she said, her voice coming out as a slight gasp, though her grip was still tight on her unfamiliar gun. "I think - I'm bleeding out here," she admitted, her voice tight with pain.

"... _Dammit_," he breathed, horrified as he looked down at her – he'd assumed that the blood on her hands wasn't hers, but now saw that she was applying pressure to a wound on her thigh, her combat fatigues already sticky with far too much blood – and he knew damn well just how quickly a thigh wound could prove fatal. Already her usually white face was stark and wan, looking close to losing consciousness. He shakily raised his hand to touch her cheek. "Come on, stay with me, Sweetheart," he told her as bullets whizzed overhead, praying that her femoral artery hadn't been hit and knowing that she might not make it out if it was. "Just a few more minutes."

Another explosion rocked them and her face turned grim with determination. "Get me up," she ordered him, hefting her gun once more.

Knowing better than to contradict anything Peggy Carter said, he slipped his good arm under hers and heaved her up – together they fired over the top of the crates, their fire covering the Commandos as they made headway against Zodiac. The 107th were skilled and ruthless, ploughing through the remaining Zodiac fighters.

Happy Sam had Levourne on his knees, holding him up by his hair in one hand and a gun to his head in the other. "Hey Thompson," Jack heard him shout, looking around the hanger for him and eventually locating him by the crates. "I know Phillips said no prisoners, but I thought you'd want this guy," he said, shaking his hand slightly to make the captured man squirm.

Jack, meanwhile, didn't particularly care that they had captured Levourne – he was busy trying to keep Peggy upright since she was leaning her weight against him, her gun drooping down by her side. "Dugan," he called loudly, knowing that they needed to get her immediate medical attention. "She's been hit – at least once, maybe twice," he said, glancing down at her and noting the red stain spreading out even further on her thigh.

Dum Dum jogged towards them, looking concerned. Peggy shook her head at him as he approached, as if telling him not to worry. "Is the base secure?" she wanted to know, keeping her tight grip on her gun and refusing to lower her guard.

"Yeah, we're all wrapped up here, Peggy," Dugan told her, glancing around the hanger – there were no doubt other Zodiac rats not going down with this particular ship, evacuating the building, but their orders were to take the base and it didn't look like they would see any more resistance.

"Good, because …" her voice was gasping and shaky. She was leaning heavily on Jack, avoiding putting her weight on her injured leg. "I - think I'm - about to pass out," she admitted, sounding almost chagrined at this weakness before she slumped forwards.

Dugan quickly helped Jack ease her to the floor, still semi-conscious with her eyes squeezed closed. "Get Jim," he ordered Gabe Jones, who was watching from one side. The man rushed off and Jack watched as Dum Dum pulled put a wodge of cloth, instructing him to hold it firmly against her injury as he tied off her upper leg with a strip bandage that he pulled from Peggy's fatigue pocket to slow the bleeding.

Jim Morita crouched down over them, his dark eyes assessing. "Get her to the truck," he told them. "The med-kit is under the front seat, we'll patch her up there."

Nodding his understanding, Jack carefully slipped one arm beneath Peggy's knees and the other around her shoulders. He tried to lift her and then winced – just because Benjy had given him a painkiller didn't mean that his injured shoulder was actually capable of taking the weight.

Dugan touched him lightly on the arm, then picked up Peggy himself as if she weighed no more than a doll. "I got her," he said simply to Jack, nodding once at him before walking out of the hanger.

* * *

Jim Morita was a trained medic and, Jack had to hand it to him, he was good at his job. They'd patched Peggy up in the back of one of the trucks and she was now stretched out on one of the back benches, still unconscious and with a blanket covering her bare legs – Jack had swallowed hard when he'd had to undo her belt and ease her fatigues down her legs while Jim had prepped bandages, tweezers to remove the bullet still lodged in her leg, and a surgical needle and thread.

Her injury meant that they actually had a bit of a reprieve; instead of flying straight back out to England, they were heading to one of the 107th bunkers for the night so that she could regain her strength.

In the time it took them to get to the bunker and settle her on one of the cots in the small med-bay, she had drifted in and out of consciousness a few times but hadn't fully woken, reminding Jack of when she had been drugged by that Leviathan assassin.

He stared down at her, watching her breathing deeply and evenly, and something clenched in his chest at how close he had come to losing her. She was _it_ for him, he damn well knew that. Without thinking, he reached out and lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

Dugan cleared his throat from the open door and Jack glanced up, finding the large man watching him carefully.

He was suddenly self-conscious – she was Captain America's girl, this was Captain America's team, and they were all clearly protective of her. _What did they even think of him?_ he wondered guilty, dropping his hand.

"She'll sleep for a while," Dugan told him, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb her. There was a brief silence, still studying Jack, then Dum Dum jerked his head, indicating that he should follow. "Come on, let's grab a drink."

Casting one more lingering look at Peggy, Jack followed him out.

* * *

Peggy woke slowly, blinking hazily through the familiar fuzziness caused by morphine. Her entire right leg felt stiff, with her thigh still aching dully despite the painkiller, whereas her lower back felt like one giant bruise – but she was alive, and for that she was grateful.

She glanced around the small med-bay; she had never been here before, but the whole place had a military feel to it and there was an army jacket tossed over one of the chairs, reassuring her that she was safe. The last thing she remembered was the Commandos' attack on the base, leaning against Jack as her legs gave out from beneath her.

She lay still for several long minutes, listening to the faint sounds of talking and laughter from down the hall, then slowly tried to sit up. She had just finished easing herself upright when the door opened. "Hey, wasn't expecting you to be awake," Dum Dum said cheerfully – his bowler was slightly askew and he had Jack's arm hauled over one shoulder, practically dragging him into the room.

"What happened?" Peggy demanded, realising that Jack was near to unconscious.

"I'm leaving him in here with you for a while," Dugan said with a faint grunt as he deposited Thompson on the bed opposite her, smelling faintly of bourbon and cigars. "Think he needs to sleep it off."

"Sleep it off?" she repeated, less worried now that she knew he wasn't injured and growing annoyed instead. "How many did he have?"

Dum Dum grinned at her. "Two," he said amusedly.

"_Two_?"

"Think he's still on some kind of pain-meds for his shoulder," he explained as he shoved Jack's dangling legs onto the bed as well. "He fell asleep right there at the table. Rookie should've known better than to mix alcohol and morphine, especially whatever crap your brother gave him," he added fondly.

Peggy laughed slightly, the sound surprising her and jarring her injured back and leg. "Either that or he just has a tiny tolerance to alcohol - which having seen him with bourbon, I somehow doubt," she clarified, remembering how they had ploughed through an entire bottle together.

"Hey, _Tiny_," Dum Dum said, another grin spreading over his face as he glanced between her and Jack. "Tiny Thompson, whaddya think?"

She shook her head, fighting a smile – she couldn't help it, she was damn happy to see her old friend again despite his antics and they hadn't exactly had a chance to talk at the base. "I think he'll hate it," she said honestly – Rick Ramirez, however, would no doubt seethe with jealousy if he knew that Jack had been vetted by the Commandos.

"About as much as you hate yours, Miss Union Jack?" Dugan asked her with a smile, heading to the open door. He then paused and nodded at Thompson, passed out on the other bed. "You'll look after him?" he wanted to know before he left.

"Yeah," she confirmed, shifting her gaze to look at Jack.

"Hey Peg?" Dugan said, still lingering by the open door. "I like him, you know," he told her, then grinned even wider and shook his head slightly. "He's a bit of a sod at times, but I like him. We all do."

Peggy pressed her lips together, then gave her friend a quick, strained smile. "Yeah, me too," she admitted quietly.

There was a slight pause, then Dugan walked quickly over to her, sitting on the edge of her bed and leaning forward to press an easy, chaste kiss to her forehead. "Don't over-think this, Peggy," he ordered her, his hand resting familiarly on her shoulder and his eyes slightly sad. "It's been nearly two years, you're allowed to move on."

Her mouth twitched sadly, threatening to drop down into a frown, and she managed a nod to Dugan. Her friend squeezed her shoulder once more and then left the two of them alone in the med-bay.

She sighed and looked over at Jack once more; he was fast asleep on the other cot with his mouth partially open, still in his combat gear with his jacket half undone. His dark blonde hair, which had clearly been combed into his usual neat style some hours ago, was not quite untidy enough to be considered messy, though it was enough to make him look slightly dishevelled. She pursed her lips as she watched him sleep, unable to believe that he had come after her – no doubt braving Phillip's wrath and risking his job, which she knew meant so much to him.

As she watched, Jack shifted in his sleep – he turned onto his back and started to snore loudly.

A startled laugh escaped her mouth at the sound and she grinned at the sleeping man as a hopeless wave of affection flooded her.

* * *

**Next up – the final chapter …**

**For those who are wondering, TARFU was WW2 American military slang for 'Things Are Really Fucked Up' :)**

**Thank you to #dontbesillywefall and #cravinghoneydukes for proofing for me.**

**And THANK YOU all for your lovely reviews – keep 'em coming!**


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning Peggy was limping heavily as she crossed the airstrip with Dugan to where the SSR's plane was waiting, its propellers already turning sluggishly; her leg was stiff and her lower back ached some, but she had been shot before and she knew that she would be fine. Jack was standing by the plane with Levourne in handcuffs beside him, shaking Happy Sam's hand and smiling slightly – his arm was in a sling once again, courtesy of Jim Morita and, based on the amount of swearing she had heard when he was getting dressed that morning, the painkiller he had been using had well and truly worn off.

"Take care, Peggy," Dum Dum said as they approached, then jerked his head in Jack's direction. "And throw that boy a bone, would ya?"

She glanced at Dum Dum and smiled, thinking of their conversation the night before and wondering how Dugan had been able to guess her feelings; knowing him, he had probably picked up something all the way back when they had been on that mission in Russia. She had known since La Martinique that her perception of Jack was changing some, but she hadn't realised how important the support of her friends was to her until yesterday. "Have I mentioned recently that I hate you?" she asked fondly.

"Yeah, that's why you can only handle me in small doses," he retorted as they joined the others. He looked at Jack, who had just finished saying his own farewells. "Look after her, alright, Thompson?" he told him in his usual, gruff voice.

Jack glanced at Peggy. "I think she can look after herself," he said smartly, while Levourne shifted his weight behind them and sighed, evidently annoyed at the farewells.

"Look after each other then," Dum Dum amended; Jack half-smiled and held out his hand.

"Thanks, for everything," he said with quiet intensity as they shook hands, the gun that Dugan had apparently given him was still slung over his uninjured shoulder. Releasing his hand, he nodded once at the rest of the Commandos before heading up the stairs of the plane with their prisoner, giving Peggy a moment alone to say goodbye.

She hugged Dugan carefully, mindful that she probably had a bruise the size of an orange on her back. "I'll miss you," she said honestly.

"You too," he replied, lightly returning her hug and then pulling back, keeping his grip on her shoulders. "By the way, I expect an invite," he said sternly, ruined by the grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth.

She shook her head at him, unable to believe that he was already implying a wedding when she and Jack hadn't even been out on their first date yet. "You're worse than Lottie," she told him, rolling her eyes. "And I'm starting to wonder if you took an injury to the head at some point," she added, hiding her amusement.

He rapped his knuckles on the top of his bowler. "That's why I wear the hat," he responded lightly.

"Carter," Jack said from the top of the stairs up to the plane, catching her attention. They glanced up at him and he jerked his head towards the open doorway. "Wheels up," he said simply, then vanished into the plane.

With one last hug and smile to her friends, she ascended the stairs and pulled the plane-door shut behind her; the plane instantly started to taxi towards the runway and she made her way over to the benches where Jack was sitting, with Levourne left on his own at the other end of the plane.

She sat down opposite him and smiled, not having had much of a chance to talk to him yet that morning. "You look like hell, " she said honestly, since Jack had dark shadows under his eyes and was holding his arm at an awkward angle, even in the sling.

"I feel it," he admitted, giving her a tired, but triumphant smile. "Benjy gave me some pain killers, which stopped it hurting on the mission, but now I think I've busted it even further," he added with a grimace, reaching up to tentatively touch his shoulder with his uninjured hand.

Peggy braced both hands on the bench beside her and shrugged at him. "Well, the mission is about wrapped up so I think we'll both be taking desk work to recuperate," she said, looking forward to returning to New York now that they had Levourne in custody.

Jack raised a brow at her, frowning slightly. "We only took down one base, Zodiac's headed by twelve," he reminded her.

She knew as much, but thought that they had made excellent progress in the past few days. "We've got all of the intel from the lab in England and this base," she pointed out, then tilted her head pointedly in the direction that Levourne was sitting. "Besides, I know how persuasive you can be. I'm confident you can make him talk."

Jack briefly followed her gaze, then dropped his eyes to the floor of the plane and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "If I'm not fired, that is," he said bitterly, though she could tell that he was actually worried about that.

"Phillips is all hot air," she told him honestly, knowing that he wouldn't be fired – punished, maybe, but he wouldn't lose his job over this. "He'll scowl and make acerbic comments, but he won't fire you - I won't let him."

He nodded once, casting her a small, relieved smile. "Thanks, Carter," he said simply, clearly trusting her word.

"I think I should be the one thanking you," she retorted softly, knowing that despite having got a message to Bletchley, she would have been dead long before a team could have got over there had Jack not gone AWOL to come after her.

"You saved my life in Russia," Jack pointed out, watching her carefully from the other side of the plane, his eyes shadowed in the dim light. His voice was loaded, the tone behind his simple words saying far more, about how they always had each other's backs. "Guess that makes us even," he added quietly, casting another smile her way.

* * *

The moment they walked into the offices at Bletchley Peggy had practically been tackled by her brother; Benjy hugged her tightly, burying his head into her shoulder while she had groaned in pain and tried to shove him off, reminding him sternly that she had been shot.

"You were shot?" Benjy repeated, evidently not having heard this; he pulled back and stared at her, aghast. "_Again_?"

Jack watched as Peggy laughed. "Yes, again – I think this makes five times now," she said, them gave her brother a reassuring look, patting him on the shoulder. "... I'm okay, Benjy," she said in a quieter, more intense voice.

"Thanks to him," Benjy said, turning his gaze to Jack – he looked like he was about to hug him too, but Phillips spoke over him as he approached.

"Agent Thompson," he said sternly, making them all turn in his direction. Phillips' narrowed eyes looked from Jack, to Peggy, to Gregory Levourne in handcuffs;_ this was it_, Jack thought, _the moment of reckoning_. "I hope you're aware that had this mission had any other outcome then by the time I was through with you, you would be lucky to even get a job pulling night-shifts as a small time, mall security guard," he said in a grim, dry voice.

"Yes sir," Jack agreed respectfully, cautious hope flaring inside him.

Phillips nodded once. "Thompson, take Mr Levourne to one of the holding cells," he ordered. "Since he is an American citizen you'll be taking him back to the United States for sentencing. Wheels up in one hour, more than enough time for you to gather your belongings and get back to the hanger," he continued in a tone that brooked no refusal or arguing. He then turned his gaze to Peggy. "Agent Carter, my office, now. You need to be debriefed after your mission and then discussions are continuing."

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed back towards his office.

Jack let out a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. "Sent home with a scolding," he surmised, unable to believe he could be that lucky. "Could be worse."

"I'll give you a lift back to the house, if you like," Benjy offered, his hands stuck in his pockets.

"Sure," Jack agreed with a nod, then looked at Peggy. "... How long do you think discussions will take?" he asked, realising belatedly that he would be going home to New York without her and frowning at the thought.

"I don't know," she replied, also looking slightly displeased at the prospect. She then glanced between him and her brother. "Benjy, could you give us a second?" she asked, tilting her head pointedly in Jack's direction.

Benjy looked thoroughly entertained. "Well, I _would_," he said amusedly, then nodded over Peggy's shoulder, towards Phillips' office. "But Phillips is already waiting for you."

Peggy sighed and shook her head at her brother's antics. Stepping closer to him, she lightly kissed Jack's cheek, right near the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you in New York, Jack," she said softly, smiling at him before turning to head towards Phillips' office.

Jack frowned, realising that Peggy had wanted a moment alone to say goodbye to him and that they hadn't gotten it. "You're a bastard, you know that?" he told Benjy.

Benjy smiled at him, still utterly amused. "Yeah," he agreed, glancing after Peggy before returning his gaze to Jack and nodding at Levourne. "Go ditch him and we'll head off."

Following his advice, he shoved Levourne in the back to get him moving, guiding him towards the door that led to the holding cells where he would be kept while Jack gathered his belongings. "In-laws?" Gregory Levourne asked him sarcastically as they went.

"Shut it," Jack retorted, in no mood to be baited.

* * *

Later that evening Peggy returned to an empty house.

Benjy had driven her home and offered to stay with her, but she had declined and sent him off to his own home. She went into the kitchen first, finding all of the files and papers they had been pouring over for the past week or so still on the table, though Jack had left them all in neat piles instead of spread out in a mess. The coffee mug that he had commandeered for his own during the duration of his stay was upside down on the draining board, but other than that the kitchen was clear.

Heading upstairs, she found his room empty, the bed made with military precision. She went into her own bedroom and picked up the empty bottle of bourbon they had drunk a few nights ago from where it still rested on her nightstand, turning it over in her hands as she looked down at it.

She sighed, wondering how it was possible for her to miss him this much after having been gone for just a few hours.

* * *

Jack stalked into the bullpen of the SSR with his hand wrapped around Gregory Levourne's upper arm, who was still cuffed with his hands behind his back. They had come straight from the airport, meaning that he was still in his combat gear from Austria. He shoved him towards Agent Davis, who was closest. "Take him through to the interrogation room," he ordered, then continued on between the desks towards his empty office.

Sousa was at his station; he had been talking to Agent Geller, but now his gaze was fixed on Jack.

"Where's Peggy?" Daniel wanted to know in a slightly urgent voice, frowning deeply and looking worried as he rose to his feet from his desk – Jack hadn't had a chance to contact the SSR since returning from the mission, so they didn't know what had happened in Austria.

"Still in England," he said shortly, pausing beside Sousa's desk.

"But she's okay?" Sousa pressed, his eyes still wide.

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed as he instinctively sat on Peggy's empty desk (a spot that he had somehow claimed as his own) to talk to Sousa, who had audibly sighed in relief at the news that Peggy was safe. He was in no mood for a debriefing; after everything that had happened and the acute pain in his shoulder he wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, but he knew that there was work to be done first. "Couple of injuries, but she'll shake them off easily enough."

"Are _you_ okay?" Agent Geller asked rudely, looking at his arm, which was still in the sling Jim Morita had given him.

"Nothing a cup of coffee and a bagel won't fix," he said dryly, glancing at the stack of files nearly a foot high that were sitting on his desk, the product of being away from work for a week. He wouldn't feel so bad about returning to work in New York if Peggy had been with him, but as it was he was in a thoroughly bad mood without her there. He frowned deeply when the junior Agent made no motion to move. "Geller, did I _stutter_?" he asked sharply and snapped his fingers pointedly at him. "Coffee, bagel - hop to it, kid."

Geller blinked, evidently not used to being sent on drink-runs, but headed towards the coffee machine without complaint.

Sousa shook his head at Jack; he looked annoyed, but there was also a slight smile tugging at his mouth. "Good to have you back, Chief."

* * *

It was just over a week later that the SSR's plane touched down on the airstrip just outside of the city, having returned to England to collect Peggy once the negotiations with Phillips and Stark had finished. Jack was leaning against his car with his arms folded, watching as the plane taxied to a halt just in front of the hanger. There was a pause, then the plane doors opened and the stairs descended; Peggy appeared at the top of them, her combat bag slung over her shoulder and her suitcase in hand. Her hair was perfectly curled and she was dressed in her usual, immaculate office wear and heels instead of combat fatigues; she saw him and smiled.

Jack waited until she had descended the stairs before speaking. "Hi," he said simply, not taking his eyes from her.

"Hi," she replied, still smiling; neither of them quite seemed to know how to greet each other after the shift in their relationship.

He frowned slightly, having noticed the hitch in her gait, not helped at all by the heels she wore. "You're still limping," he said, stepping forward to take one of her bags from her. She allowed it and they headed towards his car. "How are you?" he wanted to know.

"I've been worse," she said casually with a shrug; she cast a glance in his direction, her gaze lingering on his arm, which was no longer in a sling. "You?"

It was Jack's turn to shrug. "Still hurts like hell when I move it, but I figure it was worth it," he said honestly, knowing he would endure it again and more if it meant keeping her safe.

She was frowning at the car as he helped her with her bags. "Should you be driving?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Stop fussing, Carter, I'm fine," he retorted, grimacing as he heaved her heavy combat bag into the trunk. He was lucky that it had been his left arm that was dislocated, meaning he could still change gears and steer easily enough.

They got in the car and he started the engine, smoothly pulling out of the airstrip. "You know," Peggy said once they were on the road towards the city, her head turned to look at him. "There is something I haven't quite been able to figure out."

He glanced at her as he drove. "Yeah? What's that?"

"You and the team were at the base _minutes_ after I sent the transmission," she said simply, still watching him carefully.

Jack didn't reply for a long moment, well aware of the implication in her statement. "... Zola," he said eventually, then shot another look in her direction when she didn't reply. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"

She sighed and nodded, looking displeased. "I assumed as much," she admitted, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I thought we agreed that we wouldn't go down that route -"

"Unless it was one-hundred percent necessary," Jack finished, speaking over her. "It was," he added firmly, knowing that he would have agreed to almost anything if it had meant getting those coordinates.

She still didn't look convinced. "We're keeping an eye on him, Peg," he told her quietly, having overseen the regulations and stipulations that the former-HYDRA scientist would be bound to personally. "He's on a tight leash." There was a long pause, then she silently nodded her agreement, acquiescing to him. "So what's the verdict on your global intelligence organisation?" Jack wanted to know, changing the subject away from Zola.

She smiled. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division is in the process of being set up as we speak," she said, sounding satisfied.

"That's a mouthful," Jack said with a slight laugh, his eyes on the road. "What the hell would you even shorten that to? The S.H.I.E – oh," he said, realising what the letters spelled. "_Shield_."

Shield, the iconic emblem of Captain America himself; he knew that Peggy, Stark, and Phillips had all been close to Rogers during the war and assumed that this was some kind of homage to him. Aware that Peggy was still watching him for his reaction, he shrugged his shoulder, as if to say that he thought the name was a good one.

"It's going to be built using the SSR as its foundations, so there are going to be some changes in the office," Peggy went on to say.

"The biggest of which, I'm guessing, is that you're gonna be in charge," he assumed, glancing in his rear view mirror as he changed lanes; it looked like the SSR was in for a serious overhaul, but she had said herself that its glory days during the war had passed. Perhaps a fresh start was exactly what they needed.

Peggy was still watching him carefully. "Does that bother you?" she wanted to know.

"Depends," Jack said honestly, shooting a glance and a half smile in her direction. "I like a woman on top, but I'm also pretty attached to my office."

She looked like she was fighting a smile at his comment. "You can keep the office for now, but we're setting up new headquarters at Camp Lehigh," she told him brusquely, keeping a straight face. He nodded his understanding and there was a slight pause. "You're not being demoted, Jack," she added quietly as the silence dragged on, evidently thinking that he was annoyed about this.

"I think I'm lucky not to be fired," he said lightly, not directly addressing her comment about demotion. He glanced at her again, wishing that he wasn't driving so that they could have this conversation without him looking at the road all of the time. "You deserve it, you know," he added honestly. "Being in charge. After the whole Leviathan thing, I mean."

She didn't try to hide her smile this time. "Thanks, Jack," she said genuinely, her tone soft.

There was another long pause, and then Jack inclined his head at her. "I'll get to have an office at Camp Lehigh though, right?" he wanted to check.

Peggy let out a startled laugh, shaking her head at him. "You're impossible," she said fondly, not sounding particularly annoyed.

"Yeah," Jack agreed with a shrug, shooting her another grin as he drove. "But at least I picked you up from the airport."

* * *

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time Jack pulled up in front of her building in the city. Wordlessly, he got out of the car to open the trunk. He heaved out her combat bag, which he passed to her to carry, and took her heavy suitcase himself before slamming it closed. They headed into the building and took the elevator up to the penthouse in comfortable silence.

Peggy unlocked and pushed open the door, glancing around the familiar space. "Angie?" she called out curiously, wondering if her room-mate was home. There was no reply, meaning that she was most likely at work or rehearsals for the part that she had recently got in a small, but respectable theatre.

Jack followed her as she went into her bedroom, leaving her suitcase by the door while she tossed the combat bag on her bed.

She turned to face him, well aware that they were alone for the first time in days and their relationship had undergone a significant shift in that time. Jack was lingering by the open door, watching her with his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. There was a pause, then he raised one shoulder in a slight shrug. "Do you want to go get a drink?" he asked simply, speaking for the first time since they'd left the car.

Peggy blinked once, then smiled slightly. "I don't want a drink," she told him honestly, walking slowly towards him.

Jack was frowning deeply at her as she approached, but his expression turned quickly to surprise as she reached out and lightly ran the tips of her fingers up the lines of his suspenders to his shoulders and he opened his mouth to say something. Before he could speak, she rocked forward on her toes to press her mouth to his, as she had wanted to do since the moment the SSR's plane had touched down on American soil and she'd seen him waiting by the car.

She kissed him for a long moment, leaning into him while his hands lightly – hesitantly, as if he still couldn't believe what was happening – came to rest at her waist as he kissed her back. Seemingly realising that she wasn't going to draw back any time soon, he tilted his head to one side to deepen the kiss and his hands slowly slid down to grip her hips, more confident now.

He was the one to pull back some long seconds later as her hands started on the knot of his tie. She watched as he opened his eyes and swallowed hard, looking conflicted. "Peggy -" he started to say, but she kissed him again lightly, briefly, to silence him.

"Do you know what I was thinking about when I was in Austria?" she asked him quietly, her hand lingering on his tie but no longer making any move to untie it; he shook his head slightly, indicating that he didn't know. "I was thinking about Kresminsky," she told him, then watched as he frowned slightly in confusion, his blue eyes studying her intently. "I was thinking about Li and Yauch and Dooley," she continued, keeping her voice level. "I was thinking about my team who were killed in front of me … and I was thinking about Steve."

Jack swallowed again and his fingers reflexively tightened on her hips slightly at the mention of Steve's name. Slowly, she started on the knot of his tie once again, meeting his eyes as her fingers worked. "With the line of work that we do any day could be our last, so lets not tip-toe here," she said simply, slipping the knot free but leaving the tie loose around his neck, holding the material in her hands. "... Do you want this, Jack?"

He nodded, a slight jerk of his head. "Yeah," he admitted instantly, his voice hoarse and still looking slightly bewildered.

Using his undone tie to pull him closer, she kissed him again and he made no further complaints – it felt different now, they had both admitted what they wanted and so they kissed with surety and intensity.

It was lazy and fierce at the same time, both of them giving as good as they got, and, when Jack took her bottom lip between his teeth and slid his hands around to her back to pull her even closer against him, she thought that she could honestly get used to this.

But her hand must have gripped his injured shoulder too tightly since he suddenly gasped sharply into her mouth – she stopped, watching him carefully. Disregarding his pain, he shook his head and tried to kiss her again, but she leant back ever so slightly, refusing him her mouth. "You're hurt, Jack," she said plainly, frowning slightly.

He exhaled a breath, looking simultaneously amused and exasperated at her concern, his eyes bright. "Would you believe me if I said that I _honestly_ didn't care?" he wanted to know, his hands still lingering temptingly on her lower back.

"Well, I do," she said assertively, unwilling to bend on this.

He looked slightly put out, scowling once again with a line appearing between his brows; she laughed softly at his expression, her hands moving to his shirt to smooth out the creases she had put in the material with her grasping fingers. "You know ... my body is still on English time so I am about ready for dinner," she said affectionately, her fingers lingering where his suspenders were clasped to his trousers as she smiled up at him. "... Do you want to cash in that raincheck?"

Jack's smile returned, a slight twitch of his lips that was almost too small to see. "Yeah," he agreed, the very corner of his mouth turned up. "Sounds great, Carter."

**_Fini_**

* * *

**Big thank you to #dontbesillywefall and #cravinghoneydukes for proofing for me :)**

**And THANK YOU ALL for your awesome support and reviews for this story – this was the last chapter, so leave a review letting me know what you thought of the story!**

**Also, this won't be my last Cartson fic – they are my OTP and I am trash for this stuff, so you will no doubt see more of me here! :) **


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